


Paranormal Persuasion

by what_hasnt_been_taken_yet



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, M/M, ghost hunting? check, hijinks? also check, yeah it gets paranormal up in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_hasnt_been_taken_yet/pseuds/what_hasnt_been_taken_yet
Summary: A questionably paranormal encounter during an archaeological dig sends Jake English on a quest to find evidence for the existence of ghosts. He is joined by Dirk Strider, relatively new friend and cynical nonbeliever. It's only a matter of time before shit gets crazy.(Inspired by the beloved ghoul boys of Buzzfeed Unsolved.)
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48
Collections: DirkJake Big Bang 2k21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this for the 2021 dirkjake bigbang!! it was really fun to participate in :)  
> art cred goes to @papichulolenny on instagram!

You were never a big believer in ghosts.

When you were younger, you’d enjoyed your grandma’s stories, the ones she’d tell when the two of you would camp out deep in the woods south of Glasgow. She would set up the tent, roast some sausages and s’mores for the both of you, and when the stars came out she’d set you down in front of the fire, the light reflecting off her round glasses, creating burning twin moons to match the one in the sky above. She would spin tales of the spirit world, and you would watch enraptured as she embodied the characters, the shadows behind her dancing as if possessed by those very same spirits. You’d been fascinated by the demons and ghouls, the otherworldly, intangible monsters hidden beyond the veil.

Then she was taken by a much more tangible monster, and you stopped believing in the spirit world. There were more than enough dangers in the world already- no need to go making up imaginary ones. You were sent to live with your uncle Crocker and your cousin Jane in America, and though there were plenty of trees in Washington, you didn’t go camping again for a long time. Of course, you missed adventuring and spending time in the great outdoors, but Jane always preferred staying inside and baking, and you didn’t ever want to go it alone. You would never admit it, but you might have even been afraid.

So you instead chose to isolate yourself in your room, consuming film after film, escaping from the world, until you eventually grew up and realized that escaping didn’t do your grandma any justice. She wouldn’t want you cooped up in your room, scared to face the outside world! So you took on a profession that would allow you to shove some much-needed exploration into your schedule and became an archaeologist, which still aligned with your interests plenty. You’d argue you’re more than worth your salt when it comes to the job! You take tomb raiding seriously, all thanks to one of your favorite movies. Well, maybe ‘tomb raiding’ is a little extreme- you’ve come to realize desecrating sites is actually not a good thing, and that every movie about daring archaeologists- _cough Indiana Jones cough_ \- led you astray. Your job consists of a lot more discovery and study than it does plundering and scrums, and you’ve come to accept that.

Then you got the idea, inspired by a rather off-hand comment made by your friend Roxy, to put videos of some of your digs on the web. They were low-quality videos at first, vastly-unedited and achingly long recordings of what amounted to mostly rocks and boring, dusty artifacts accompanied by lengthy awkward silences as you struggled to add commentary- or completely forgot you were recording. Then Roxy graciously showed you a few editing softwares, so you started adding post-dig commentary to the videos, and suddenly you were a relatively successful Youtuber, recording at nearly every digsite that gave you permission.

Which is how you caught the moment your life changed on camera.

Because, while you were never a big believer in ghosts before, you certainly are now.

It happened while you were visiting an excavation-site-turned-museum in Mexico City. Templo Mayor, the ruins of an Aztec Temple, smack dab in the middle of the city that was built around it. The temple had been undergoing on-and-off excavations since the early 1980s, though you’d never taken a trip there yourself, or even to Mexico, for that matter. Aztecan culture was never a huge specialty of yours- you were more interested in the Middle East, partly due to your heritage there. But when a colleague called you up asking for your help, well, you couldn’t just turn them down! Besides, you have a lot of leeway with your assignments, since you rake in a hefty amount of dough for each job you take on, so you usually find yourself with much free time and nothing to do with it except take offers to join in on a dig or two.

So off to Mexico you went, and you rather say you enjoyed the place greatly. Color and life radiated from every building and side street, putting your childhood neighborhood with its cookie-cutter houses to damn shame. Sure, you knew you were seeing a more impressive side of the country, but even the most impressive parts of the U.S. still paled in comparison. And the dig site itself was no slump, either. Most people might look at a pile of ancient stones and bricks and half-crumbling stairs and think little of it, but to you it spoke to the integrity of the construction, knowing that it lasted six centuries hidden beneath meters of packed dirt. The surfaced portions were open to visitors and tourists, while the deeper, more underground layers- remnants of temples that had been built by successively older emperors- were subjected only to the eyes of paid professionals.

You’d heard the rumors about the temple being haunted- victims of Aztecan sacrificial rituals heard screaming or seen as shadows walking about- but you didn’t lend a pound of credibility to them. It was all hogwash, as far as you were concerned. The folds of history embedded in each room were impressive enough without the threat of ghostly intruders. Though you will admit the tower of skulls creeped you out a little bit. You love skulls, you do, but it’s hard to keep up enthusiasm for them when faced with a hundred jutting out of a wall, all macabre and grinning back at you.

You met your colleague, Aradia Megido, a woman you’d always found a tad strange due to her morbid fixation, but nonetheless agreeable. Besides, you were hardly one to talk. She presented a few ancient tablets and whatnot to you, all depicting Aztec deities, and had excitedly pointed out one that she claimed was a Death deity. You assisted her in identifying a few more, though, again, it wasn’t exactly your forte, before she gave you full access to explore the rest of the temple, and even video it.

You’d taken the invitation heartily, traversing deeper into the newly excavated portions of the temple, your camcorder’s light the only thing to guide you. Fool that you are, you stopped paying attention to where exactly you were headed, and suddenly found yourself in some shadowy hypogeal hallway, having completely lost your bearing. That’s when you saw it- them? You’re not sure. It wasn’t more than a glimpse, but you could’ve sworn you saw an outline, ethereal and darkly glowing. All you know is that it had been enough for you to turn tail and run, spooked out of your wits. Enough for you to reconsider the whole “ghosts aren’t real” idea. In fact, your grandma’s old stories suddenly seemed a lot less unbelievable.

Unfortunately, while your camera was on, it didn’t catch much- between the low light and the shakiness from your getaway, you have to squint for a few frames to even notice the blur that you’re positive is the half-outlined specter. Even then, it’s highly questionable. But you know what you saw, and the obvious panic in your voice was enough to convince your devoted followers.

You decided, on a whim, to research the history of ghost sightings in the area and make a follow-up video out of it. Though your formatting wasn’t much to be proud of, the follow-up got even more traction than the original, much more than any of your other videos before, and your viewership suddenly skyrocketed. They were all interested in hearing more about ghost sightings and, well, you’re not one to disappoint your loyal subscribers! So, possibly against your better judgement, you decided you would take on less work responsibilities and use the extra time to visit more haunted sights and make videos on their paranormal histories.

There was just one problem. You weren’t… _scared_ , per se, because you’re a strapping, adventuring young man and you’d be damned if you let a mere specter terrify you so much. But you had to admit to yourself that the thought of purposefully seeking out other specters, _alone_ , made you a little trepidatious. You’ve not got the best grasp on ghost hunting or what-have-you, since you liked to focus on pursuing much more alive and furry quarry, so you had no idea what to expect. In fact, you weren’t even sure if there was actually anything to expect at all. Perhaps the ghost had been an imagined one, conjured up by an overtaxed mind, and the blur caught by the camera just that- a blur. But even if what you’d seen wasn’t a falsehood, and ghosts were real, you had no idea whether they could be dangerous. Either way, you didn’t want to be entering any possibly ghost-infested areas with only yourself to rely on.

Fact of the matter was, you needed a co-host. Someone who was informed on ghosts. Someone who you could rely on to keep you sane in the field. Someone who could actually edit your videos into something resembling semi-professional.

That could have been the reason why you didn’t immediately turn down Jane when she insisted you go to the ten-year reunion of your university- or you suppose it’s called _college_ in the US, you’d think you would know that after living there for half your life. The reunion wasn’t something you had been planning on attending. Secondary education had been a means to an end for you, so even though you’d joined plenty of clubs- soccer, hiking, sharpshooting- you’d kept mostly to yourself and hadn’t really had any friends. Aside from Jane and Roxy, of course. They would be the only ones you’d know at the reunion, and since you already see or talk to them at least every other week, you hadn’t seen a real reason to go.

But when Jane mentioned it to you again, for the twenty-eighth time, you took a second to actually consider it. You _did_ need a co-host, and neither of your two friends were willing or available enough to take the role. Did you mention you don’t really have friends? Sure, you have work buddies, and other various acquaintances, but no one you’d be comfortable asking to join you. Maybe you were crazy to think you might hit it off that well with someone at the reunion, but it was the best chance you had to meet some new people. You can’t exactly go around introducing yourself to random strangers on the street willy-nilly- that would be quite forward and more than a little rude. A college reunion, while an utterly unpleasant idea, was probably the best chance you’d get to socialize, even if you had to force yourself to do so.

That’s why, much to the excitement of Jane and Roxy, you begrudgingly agreed to go.

~~~

You find yourself there a few weeks later, standing to the sidelines in a dimly lit basketball stadium, sparsely decorated with sad streamers and half-deflated balloons, which is about what you expected. There’s a table set up with snacks and drinks, and at one end of the court a DJ is playing songs from a decade ago to the small crowd of people milling about, most of whom aren’t dancing. You grabbed a cup of punch a while ago, because you guess a school-sponsored event couldn’t shell out the extra dough for alcohol. Or maybe just because you’re on a college campus and they don’t exactly condone drinking, even though everyone here is well over the legal age. No matter, you suppose. You think it might be spiked anyway, not that you can really tell through all the sugar.

You arrived with your two friends about an hour ago, but you’ve already lost them to the crowd, because, unlike you, they are both relatively successful when it comes to mingling. You are practically hugging the walls, or you would be if there weren’t bleacher seats behind you. You’d like to sit, but you’re pretty sure if you did you wouldn’t get up again until it was time to leave, and that would mean giving up on trying to meet people. Not that you’re really meeting people just standing here. Not that you haven’t basically given up already.

Fortune must favor you, though, as someone decides to approach you, doing all the hard work that you had been unable to. He looks vaguely familiar, possibly someone you shared a class with, though you can’t place which one. Actually, on second thought, you’re sure you would remember someone this… handsome. Or at least, you would’ve taken note of the strange anime glasses. Though, as you think back on some of your fellow college classmates, you can remember them making much weirder fashion statements.

In any case, handsome’s not quite the right word for him. His features are delicate, almost feminine in their beauty, but there’s a sharp quality to him, as if you might cut yourself if you get too close. Everything about him is sharp, actually, from the way his white-blond hair is meticulously styled, razor-sharp and shining in the light, to those strange triangular shades he sports, opaque to the point where you can just barely make out the eyes behind them. You think if you _could_ see them, though, they would be just as sharp as the rest of him.

You watch him warily, uncertain why he’s taken an interest in you. You’re _pretty_ sure it’s you he’s headed for; no one else is standing anywhere near you, and his face is turned towards you, the pressure of those unseen eyes boring into you. His steps are so deliberate that you could almost swear they were planned out in advance. That only makes you more nervous. You drop your gaze, silently willing him to turn at the last second even though the only reason you came to this party was to talk to people, but he stops a mere three feet from you, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Jake English?” he asks, his voice clipped and a little cold, exactly as sharp as you would expect. There’s a bit of inflection in there, though, a hint of a Texan twang, not that you can be all that sure seeing how you’re not the most knowledgeable when it comes to American accents. You startle at the words, because you weren’t expecting him to know your full name. Sure, you went to the same university, and at this point you have enough notoriety from Youtube to be recognized by fans here and there, but you’re still taken aback.

“Y-yes, that’s me!” you say shakily, trying for a smile. Best to be polite in situations like these, when accosted by what basically amounts to a stranger. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think you’d remember me. Sophomore year, economics class. I sat a few rows behind you.” As he talks, you notice, almost offhandedly, how little his facial expressions shift. You can’t tell if he’s disappointed you didn’t recognize him, or hopeful your memory might be jogged, or what. Everything is clinical, from the minimal expressiveness to the flatness of his tone. Once again, you get the strange feeling that this was meticulously planned.

You shrug, mildly embarrassed. “Sorry to let you down, chap, but I can hardly remember a thing from the university days!” It’s mostly true- there are a few faces and names that stand out more than others, but a lot of it is a muddled soup. Events, you can place a lot more easily. You certainly remember taking economics in sophomore year, so at least this dude is probably telling the truth. “That was Mr. Abraxas, right?”

His head dips towards you slightly. “Yeah.”

“Always hated the old bugger,” you joke, which makes him snort softly- the first indication of emotion you’ve seen from him. That’s a little reassuring, at least. He’s not completely expressionless. You guess you can let your guard down a little, try to relax. You’re just making small talk at a college reunion. Should be easy! “He loved to demean us for not knowing material he hadn’t even gone over yet. Rather got on my nerves.”

He gives you the tiniest of smirks, more a twitch of his lip than anything, “I remember that. Bastard loved to spring pop quizzes on us, too. Practically every fucking day. Shit was so frequent it stopped being a surprise. It was more surprising when there _wasn’t_ a quiz. Like, oh, you’re _not_ going to check if we remember the shit you literally taught yesterday? Shocker of the century. Honestly, fuck that guy.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, loud and unabashed. So he has a sense of humor, then, even with his near-monotone manner of speaking. Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as he first seemed. Or maybe your small joke was enough to get him to loosen up. “Fuck that guy indeed,” you agree, smiling widely, probably looking like a total goofball. The smile falters almost immediately, though, and you find yourself checking your surroundings. “Bollocks, you don’t reckon he’s _here_ , do you? I’d hate for him to overhear.”

He shrugs, his arms falling to his sides. You think you notice some tension leaving his shoulders, which you didn’t even notice until it was gone. Maybe he was on-edge for some reason? That makes two of you. “Who gives a fuck? He _should_ have to hear how shitty he was.”

“Fair point.” You grin at him again, this rather striking, surprisingly funny man who… who’s name you still don’t know. Whoops. “Oh bollocks, I’ve been rather uncouth, haven’t I? Didn’t even ask your name! You’d think I’d at least practice the basics of etiquette when attending a party, but I suppose all sense left the ol’ noggin a long time ago. Pardon the lapse in manners.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He silently stares you down- or you assume he’s staring you down, the glasses make it harder to tell- and you fidget with your jacket sleeves, waiting for his answer. After a few moments, you clear your throat. “So… were you going to tell me your name?”

“You didn’t actually ask.”

Is this guy for real? There’s no smirk on his face, so you can’t tell if it’s a joke. He’s still not saying anything, though, so either he’s sticking with the bit or he actually expects you to ask him. You roll your eyes, a little exasperated. “Frankly, I didn’t think I needed to. Thought it was pretty self-explanatory that I wanted to know what moniker you prefer! But fine, if you insist on waiting for me to ask, then I may as well bite the bullet. What’s your name, chap?”

“You can call me Dirk,” he replies, the corner of his lip flicking up again. You don’t know what he finds so amusing.

“Dirk, huh? Not the least conventional name I’ve heard. Got a patronymic to go with that?”

“Patronymic? Do you always use esoteric language?”

“Only when it fits the bill!” You wink, a little exaggeratedly, because, sure, you’re awkward as hell when it comes to social interactions, but you know how to have a little bit of fun from time to time. Or maybe it’s just that you feel comfortable with this practical stranger, as weird as that is. You don’t know what it is about him- perhaps his subtle way of poking amusement at you, or his delicate, dangerous good looks, or his nonchalant manner of speaking.

Or, just maybe, this punch is more spiked than you first thought.

“I can’t help but notice that you evaded my question, Dirk,” you point out, allowing yourself to smirk a little.

“Oh, did I? My bad.”

“You’re really going to make me coax it out of you? That’s hardly fair. You walked up already knowing mine.”

“Didn’t realize last names were so important.”

“Well, of course they are! It’s called a family name for a reason! Quite useful for harkening back to your folks.”

“Some people don’t exactly like being reminded of their family.” He doesn’t say it with any scorn, commenting on it as naturally as one comments on the weather, but you get the feeling it could be slightly personal. Well, you’re not one to drag an emotional anecdote out of a newly-made friend- _acquaintance_ \- so you won’t pry.

“I suppose so. I can’t say I feel the same way! Always felt rather fond of my family! I can rest assured they’ll have my back whenever I need them.”

He nods slightly. He sure does love emoting as little as possible, you’ve noticed. You’re suddenly motivated to try to crack this nut. “It’s nice to have a support system. Something to fall back on.”

“Yeah, though recently they’ve been nothing but pesky! Like my cousin Jane. She’s the one who bugged me to come to this here jamboree. She’s been clamoring about it for months, going on about revisiting old friends and reliving memories of the ‘good old days’ and whatnot, and I just _had_ to let her rope me in. Oh well, I could use the chance to work those underdeveloped social muscles; Lord knows I’ve let them fall by the wayside.”

His eyebrows crease, his mouth twitching in amusement. You’re going to count that as progress. “Really? You don’t seem too terrible at socializing. At least, you acted polite enough when a complete stranger approached you out of nowhere. If someone came up to _me_ like that, well, let’s just say the scene wouldn’t be pretty.”

You snort, and then another question pops into your head, one you’re kicking yourself for not thinking to ask earlier. “Why _did_ you approach me out of nowhere? You seemed pretty hell-bent on talking to me, and surely that isn’t just because you recognized me from one class in sophomore year.” You try to be joking with your tone, but you _are_ pretty curious.

This causes him to stiffen up slightly, so minutely that you wouldn’t have noticed had you not been keyed in to his most minute movements. Seriously, it’s a frigging treasure hunt trying to pull personal ticks out of this guy. It’s good you know a thing or two about treasure, and hunting, and treasure hunting. That probably makes you the most qualified for this specific search. “Sure you want the truth, dude? Might freak you out a little.”

“Freak me out?” you ask, more than a little confused. “What in the blazes could you say that would freak me out?” Then you’re suddenly reminded of the couple nasty incidents you’ve had with some of your _fans_ , and you take a step back, instantly on the defensive. Dirk isn’t that big, but from the tense way he holds himself, almost constantly on guard, it’s not hard to tell he’s been in a few fights. “You’re not some creepy stalker of mine, are you? I know I’m just famous enough to have accumulated quite a few of those, and I should warn you I’ve plenty of experience with scraps!”

“Relax, bro.” He puts up both hands in a clear gesture of surrender. “I’m not here to hassle you, or hurt you. I’m not even that big of a fan.”

Your chest deflates as the breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes through clenched teeth. “You’re… _not_.”

“Nah. I mean, I’ve seen a video here and there, but they’re not really all that impressive.”

“Not that _impressive?!_ ” And just like that, you’re defensive in a completely different way.

He smirks, actually showing a hint of teeth this time, and you think you see his eyes glint in amusement behind the shades. You’re suddenly not so sure if you want to continue pursuing your mission of getting him to show more expression, not if it means him poking fun at you. “Well, sure, the dig sites are pretty fascinating, and all the artifacts and shit you uncover. That is, if that kind of archaeological bull is your deal, which it really isn’t for me. That’s more my brother’s thing- in fact, he’s really the only reason I know you had a channel. I just find some of your videos completely _unwatchable_. Like, could you not find someone to edit them for you? Five minutes of silence as you trudge through some sandy-ass desert is just not entertaining.”

“Hey, I’m working on that, alright? Sure, editing’s not my strongest suit, but I’d like to think I rather excel in other areas!”

“I dunno, bro, your commentary is about as dry as those deserts you’re digging in.”

“I’m _informative_. Sorry if it’s not funny enough for you!”

“It’s funny, sure, when you’re not prattling off facts like a nervous sixth grader presenting their first PowerPoint. It’s almost too embarrassing to watch.”

“Oh, so you just came over here to insult me, then! Glad that’s cleared up.”

That startles a laugh out of him, and it’s the genuine article, too. He quickly quiets down, clearing his throat and slightly turning away. You might even see a bit of darker color on his cheeks, though it’s hard to tell. You’re climbing back on the ‘get this guy to show emotions’ bandwagon. It’s happening. “That wasn’t the plan, though at this point I should expect that in every social interaction I’ll end up pissing off all other parties.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m pissed off, exactly, so don’t get your knickers in a twist! At least not yet. As long as you don’t continue disparaging my videos. Although I would be a shame-faced liar if I didn’t admit I have all the editing skills of a sea sponge. So, fine, you can _maybe_ rag on my editing. But I better not hear any more slander of my commentary, because it is top-tier.”

He laughs again, a lot lighter, more a soft snort than anything. “Okay, okay, fair point. I will try to keep my comments on your videos to a minimum. Assuming everything else is fair game, of course.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Whoa there, I don’t know about _that_ one. What exactly does ‘everything else’ entail?”

“Oh, you know, just making fun of you in general. This whole goofy wannabe British Indiana Jones vibe you’ve got going. You can’t actually expect anyone to take that seriously.”

“Hey, I take offense to that! I’m _much_ more partial to Lara Croft.”

His head tilts to the side inquisitively, and you just notice his eyes flicking over you. “Well, I guess that explains your getup.”

You follow his lead and look down at what you’re wearing- hiking boots, cargo shorts that show off a good portion of your legs, and your signature jacket over a tight-fitting tank. All you’re missing is the thigh-strap gun holster thing, which is totally not a thing you own or anything! Jane told you to dress professionally, so you’d decided to go as casual as possible, only because you knew it would irk her. Just because you willingly agreed to come in the end doesn’t mean you can’t still put up a bit of a silent protest. You drew the line at wearing the holster- the one you _definitely_ still do not own- because even you have a modicum of self-respect. Though it would’ve almost been worth the embarrassment just to see the look on Jane’s face, and you’re sure Roxy would’ve gotten a kick out of it, too. “Listen, I can respect a lady who knows her way around a wardrobe. And if you’ve got a problem with that-”

“Whoa, no, of course not,” he interrupts, more than slightly alarmed. “That is not what I was implying at all. Sorry if I offended you. Again. Fuck.”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your head, staring at your drink. Maybe you should turn down the combativeness just a smidgen. You’re usually much more polite than this. “You didn’t. This whole function just has me a bit touchy, is all.”

“I get that. In fact, I’m pretty fucking uncomfortable here, too. If I had to extrapolate on why, it’d probably have something to do with all the ghosts of boners past in here.”

You picked a perfect time to take another sip of your punch. You end up nearly choking on the stuff, and find yourself coughing before you can get your voice to work again. “P-pardon?”

He smirks. “Think about it. They host almost every big school function here- club meetings, dances, you name it, it’s probably happened in this room. Which means there have likely been loads of dudes who got their rocks off only to be gently turned down and have their half-masts slowly lowered. Hence boner ghosts.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as you find yourself judging him for even thinking up such a ridiculous concept. “I haven’t ever considered it that way, but I suppose that would explain the overwhelming awkward energy in the room.”

“Exactly.” His mouth falls back into a neutral line as your giggles die down, which is why you’re blindsided by his next words. “And for the record, I ain’t got a single problem with how you dress.”

With the way he’s staring at you, you might almost think he’s hitting on you, even if his lack of a tone doesn’t indicate anything remotely like that. And yet… almost everything he says is in that monotone, so would you really be able to tell if he _did_ mean it as a compliment? And _if_ he did, you’re sure the compliment is wasted on you- sure, your shorts are a little revealing, but you’re definitely not a paragon of fashion or anything. “Thanks, chap. You’re not such a bad dresser yourself, aside from the glasses. Why are you even wearing those? It’s dark enough as is in here.”

He shrugs. “They’re necessary.”

“Necessary for what, exactly? Looking like a senseless douchebag?” You wouldn’t say it aloud, but the shades bug you. It’s so much easier to read a person when you can see their eyes, and those things are so tinted you’re not sure how his vision isn’t completely obstructed. Not to mention you’re _really_ curious what they look like. All you can get is a general shape- no color, no microexpressions, nothing.

“Damn, English. I was going more for _prick_ than douchebag. Guess I gotta find more pretentious shades.”

“Oh golly, don’t even bother. Those are bad enough. Also, English?”

“What, can I not call you by your last name?”

“Not when I still don’t know _yours_! Consarn it, how are you so good at misdirection?”

Another shrug from your new friend. You’d think he’d switch it up a little, but he’ll get there one day. You’ll just have to introduce him to the world of emotional expression. “Lots of practice. It’s Strider.”

“What?”

“My last name. Thought I might as well tell you, if you’re gonna keep bugging me about it.”

His grin is small but cheeky, and you have to hold in a disgruntled outburst. “ _Much_ appreciated. Dirk Strider, then. Has quite a ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sure. It is _my_ name, after all. Just by virtue of it being associated with me, it’s gotta be pretty impressive.”

“Well, aren’t you self-obsessed.”

“What gave you that idea? I’d argue I’m insanely modest. Any other person in my position, i.e. the position of being the paragon of dopeness, would feel compelled to talk about themselves ad infinitem. You’re lucky I’m the only one cursed with such an affliction.”

“Ah, yes, because I would certainly describe a person who uses ‘i.e.’ in verbal conversation as someone who is ‘dope’. Totally not something a complete nerd would say!”

“See, you get it.” You roll your eyes at that, too. He can pretend to not be a dork _all_ he wants, but you have his frigging number. Hell, you’ve already dialed, and you can hear his line ringing, and his ringtone is something suitably dorky. Probably an anime theme, if you had to guess from the shades. “Just count yourself lucky I have enough self-restraint and decency to not subject anyone to extensive monologues on myself. It’d be highly crippling to every person’s ego in a half-mile.”

“Or maybe just to their sanity.”

“Alright, got me there.” He watches you for a second, his face immediately falling back into that maddeningly inscrutable expression. Then he moves to walk past you, and for a second you’re confused, because there’s nowhere he could possibly be going in that direction, until he sits down on one of those old, shitty plastic bleacher seats, their color a dull purple from years of fading. He nods his head to the empty seat next to him. “Might as well get comfortable if we’re gonna hug the wall all night.”

You clear your throat nervously, though your heart pounds in your chest as you look him over. He doesn’t strike you as all that welcoming, and yet, with the way he’s opening up to you… well, you think you’re going to enjoy tonight more than you planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out @dirkjakeweek on twitter for more fantastic fics!!


	2. Chapter 2

Swallowing your nerves, you sit next to Dirk, keeping a little bit of distance between the two of you. “I must ask, what makes you think we won’t eventually join the rabble before the party’s through?” You gesture vaguely towards the middle of the room, where most of the attendants have gathered, mingling or awkwardly half-dancing or breaking away to grab snacks or drinks. There are actually quite a few more people who have decided, like you, that they’d prefer to sit on the sidelines for a while, though none of them are anywhere near you and Dirk. You don’t see Jane or Roxy anywhere. Knowing them, they’re most likely in the thick of the crowd, rubbing elbows with the best of them.

Dirk raises an eyebrow at you. “Just a feeling. Probably has something to do with the fact that you’ve been standing over here for the past half hour.” You duck your head, sheepishly taking a sip of your drink. Has he been watching you for that long? “Or maybe your claim that your cousin had to drag you here, to work your so-called ‘underdeveloped social muscles’. Makes me think you didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

Deflection time! Your favorite hobby. “Well, bollocks. I suppose you and your surprisingly accurate memory have got me pinned, then! Fantastic detective work, Mr. Strider, really, you’ve got me down to a tee. Didn’t completely leave out the most important detail.”

He crosses his arms, leaning back onto the row of seats behind him. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’d I miss?”

“I’ll let you off the hook on this one, since I don’t think I explicitly stated my true intent for coming to this here shindig. But seriously, if you ever hope to compete with the likes of Holmes and Poirot, you’ve got to pay a lick more attention to context clues, not just conversational ones! That’ll get you in the Dicking Hall of Fame for sure.”

“One, those are both fictional characters, and two, I’m pretty sure if there _is_ a Dicking Hall of Fame, it has nothing to do with detectives.”

You giggle at that, like the child you are, then decide to only address his first comment. “Well, I don’t rightly know any real-life gumshoes, which is funny considering how obsessed Jane is with them. You’d think I would remember a single one she mentioned! No matter, the point is, it shouldn’t have been too difficult to puzzle out my big reason for being here.”

“I’m drawing a blank, English. You’ll have to help me out here.”

“Wow, giving up so easily, are we, Strider?” You elbow him in the arm, lightly, but just that small touch makes him stiffen slightly. 

“Not giving up. Just asking for a hint.”

“Oh, the great Strider needs a hint?”

“I’m not a fucking detective, so yeah.”

“Okay then, if you insist! It has something to do with my most recent video.”

He groans at that, tipping back his head. “Dude. I just told you I barely watch your shit. And unless there’s some archaeological dig going down on campus, which I’m _pretty_ sure there isn’t, I don’t see how that hint is supposed to help me.” Absentmindedly, he runs a hand through his hair before realizing he’s completely dismantling its careful construction. Which you don’t really mind- you think you might actually prefer it that way- but he quickly pulls his hand back out and gives it a disgruntled look, as if it betrayed him. Cute.

You roll your eyes at his antics. “Oh, come now. If your brother watches my videos, then he almost certainly would have shown you this one. It’s my most popular one, after all.”

Dirk taps his fingers on his thigh, looking across the room at nothing in particular. “Okay, that gives me _something_ , I guess. I remember my bro mentioning you taking a more supernatural angle on your last video. Still dunno how that could possibly apply here. You studying those boner ghosts I mentioned?”

You stifle your laugh with a sigh, shaking your head. “No, Dirk, I am not studying boner ghosts. Damn. And here you were acting like you knew everything.”

“I never actually claimed that, though.”

“You didn’t have to, it was clear enough with your whole know-it-all attitude.” You shrug, grinning. “Well, if that’s the case, and you haven’t been keeping up with my vids, then you wouldn’t have all the clues necessary to solve this here caper. When it comes down to it, I guess I’m just a mysterious guy with inscrutable motivations!”

Dirk snorts at that. “You’re about as inscrutable as a glass of water on a sunny day. Just get to the point. Why did you want to come here?”

“I’m trying to find a co-host!” He looks back at you, nose scrunched in what’s likely confusion, so you decide to explain. “If you’d actually paid any attention to my channel, you would’ve known my last video inspired me to take a new direction with my content. I’m planning on beginning a paranormal investigation series, and I wanted a co-host as extra help. You know, someone to do some research, or to supply additional editing and commentary, since _some_ folks seem to have a problem with mine.” You stick your tongue out at him, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, only raising an eyebrow at you. That’s no fun. “But of course none of my friends were interested, which left me stranded when it came to finding a partner. I thought perhaps this event might expose me to some interested parties.”

Dirk sits up again, lacing his fingers and stretching his arms out in front of him. You try not to stare for too long. “Yeah, I don’t know how the hell you expected me to get all of that from your ‘hint’.”

“Listen, I never said I was much good at giving clues!”

“ _I_ never said I was a good detective.”

“And you never will be, not with _that_ attitude.” He gives you an exasperated stare over the lip of his shades, just long enough for you to get a glimpse of those elusive eyes- a flash of bright, oversaturated amber-brown. If you didn’t know it was impossible, you might’ve even said they were orange. You’re just going to chalk that up to the weird strobe lights “Anyhoo, this whole thing’s been a rather disappointing bust. My plan’s gone completely by the wayside, thanks to my tendency to gravitate towards the nearest corner like an especially pathetic wallflower! Really, it’s a wonder I ever thought I would be able to meet people at a social gathering. I’m much more comfortable keeping to myself.”

“Well, you met me, didn’t you?” His reply is quiet, almost contemplative, and it’s not helped by him turning away slightly as he says the words. Kind of weird for him to not face you while having a conversation! Then again, you’re one to talk.

“I suppose, but I can’t rightly take the credit on that one! You’re the one who initiated the meeting. I just stood here looking like a right dope, while you decided to approach out of nowhere and save me from my self-imposed isolation.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short. If you really wanted to avoid people, you would’ve walked away as soon as you saw me, but you didn’t. You actually carried most of our conversation. I’d reckon that takes some effort.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you say, shrugging, watching those fingers of his continue to dance on his leg. He’s got this restless energy to him, and you’re not sure why, but it’s almost magnetic to be around. You just want to reach out and still that tapping hand. You don’t, but you’re definitely tempted. “Say, you still haven’t told me why you came over here in the first place! There you go, evading questions again.”

“I’mma be real, I didn’t even try to avoid that one.” He rolls his shoulders, cranes his neck a little bit, staring at God-knows-what. Seriously, what is so interesting about the wall? “In fact, I think it’s kind of clear at this point.”

“Well, I’m having trouble figuring it out, so why don’t you just tell me?”

“Oh, so when I have a question, I have to try to put together clues like some asshole with red string and a bulletin board, but when _you_ have a question, you just expect the answer to be handed to you on a silver platter.”

“Pretty much!”

He huffs out a breath at that, which sounds suspiciously like him trying to avoid laughing. “Fine. Guess I’m your waiter for the night.”

You blink at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Obviously it means I’ll happily dish up any facts you ask for.”

“Oh! Well, then. Go ahead?”

“Alright. The truth is, I recognized you, from both your videos and from being in class all those years ago, and since my bro likes you so much I thought it might impress him or make him jealous if I talked to you.”

You try not to let yourself visibly deflate from your disappointment. You had expected… what? What did you want, for his reasons to be a little more personal? A little more concerned with you, and not his brother? You don’t know. “Oh, is that all?”

“Not exactly.” You perk up at that, suddenly hopeful again. Curse your stupid, optimistic heart. “I also thought you looked kind of lonely, standing over here by yourself. No offense, I mean, I was fucking alone, too. Don’t know a single other asshole in this place, but I glanced over and I recognized you. Hell, maybe I only remembered you because of your dumbass videos-”

“Hey!” you interject, because you _have_ to defend your honor.

“ _But_ ,” he continues, glaring at you for interrupting, “at least it reminded me of the one person I could go up to and name without coming off as a total creep. Not only that, but you always seemed like a decent dude, maybe even interesting, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that a personable guy like you would be standing here, in a room full of people, completely alone.”

“I’m not _completely_ alone. I mean, I have Jane and Roxy. They’re…” You trail off, and he raises an eyebrow knowingly. Ugh. You hate that he’s right. “They must be _somewhere_ in here.”

“I’m sure they are.” Oh, of course he has to take the patronizing route there. Typical. “But the fact of the matter is, I didn’t see anyone else around you. You were alone, and you looked like you needed a friend as much as I did, so I just decided, fuck it. I mean, I don’t lose a God-damn thing going up to you and trying to strike up a conversation, except maybe my dignity. So I did exactly fucking that, and here I am now, still talking to you. Guess that means I passed.”

Your grin is coming back now. So he didn’t just approach you for his brother’s sake. He actually _noticed_ you, noticed that you were having a rather glum time in the corner, noticed that you might be feeling the same way as him. Though, you suppose your videos _did_ play some part in it all. You’ll have to thank his brother for reminding Dirk of a former classmate. “Yes, you’ve certainly passed, and with flying colors at that! I will admit I wasn’t quite enjoying myself until you came along, so thanks for that. Even if I still barely know you and you like getting on my nerves!”

He huffs out a small, nervous chuckle. “Anytime, bro. Next time you’re going it alone at a social event, just hit me up and I’ll be there, swooping in like a fucking friendship ninja to help uphold your reputation as a totally awesome dude.”

“That would be much appreciated,” you say, giggling. “Though I’m not sure my reputation is as impressive as you’re suggesting.”

“Bullshit. You think you aren’t cool? You get to dig up the remains of ancient human civilization for a living, and then you put the videos on the web for anyone to see. I’d argue that’s pretty fucking baller.”

“Yes, I suppose my occupation’s more interesting than the average chap’s. But really, I just sort of stumbled into the whole Youtube thingamawhatsit, never planned on it getting as big as it did. That’s life, I suppose! Sometimes you just have to trust that the winds of fate are gonna blow you right where you’re supposed to be, you know?”

Past the darkened film of his shades, you catch his eyes narrowing at you. “No, I don’t think I do. Fate’s been kind of a bitch to me. Especially recently.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” You pat him on the shoulder, in a show of comradery, and this time he doesn’t tense up at your touch. “With any hope, Lady Luck’s got a big change coming for you soon.”

“No, thanks. I don’t need favors from Lady Luck, and I sure as hell would love to avoid any other shitty plans she has for me.”

“Nonsense! Your luck’s gotta turn around at some point. Maybe she has a bit of fortune in the works.”

“Doubt it.”

“Oh, come on.” You decide that, since he seems less uncomfortable with your casual touches, you can push it a little. So you give him an innocuous little poke in the arm, trying and failing to ignore the surprising amount of muscle mass in his bicep. “What about meeting me? Surely you consider that to be fortuitous.”

“Hm.” He glances over you again, in a way that makes you feel somewhat transparent, like he’s searching your soul. “Can’t be sure yet.”

Well, _that_ stings. And here you were convinced things were going so well. “Wow. Didn’t realize you thought _so_ highly of me! Thanks for the vote of confidence!”

“It’s not an indictment of your character, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He pauses for a few moments, clearly thinking out how to word whatever’s in his head. You cross your arms, waiting for a good explanation, or at least one that doesn’t amount to him not enjoying your presence. You don’t know why you care so much, but you have a weird desire to impress him. “It’s just that there’s no way for me to know how this is going to turn out. Right now, sure, I’m having a relatively good time talking to you, as opposed to kicking it alone in the crowd, but who the fuck knows what’s gonna happen in the future? Maybe this’ll go somewhere, and we’ll become best bros, or maybe we’ll have some huge, life-altering fight. Hell, maybe we won’t have another conversation after tonight, and this whole thing will be some distantly pleasant memory that’ll eventually wither away. The outcome of all this just ain’t a known quantity.”

You suppose you can accept that answer. “I understand your line of thinking, but as long as we’re discussing such cerebral matters, I must admit I disagree somewhat. I think that, while you can’t know what the future holds in store, you certainly can assess your present moment and count your blessings there! If you’re always wondering what might be around the corner, how are you supposed to appreciate where you’re currently at? You’ll just end up missing all the good moments because you’re too darned concerned with when things will eventually get bad again. Stop and smell the roses, as they say.”

He nods, that small, barely-there grin lighting up his face. “Well, if that’s the case, I guess I can say I’m feeling pretty lucky.” His eyes are on you as he says it, his stare burning into you even through the shades, and you’re almost sure this time that he must be hitting on you- except it still doesn’t make sense why. Either way, you’re definitely blushing at the comment.

Before you can reply, though, another familiar voice cuts into the conversation. “Jaaaake!!” You turn just in time to catch Roxy right before they barrel into you, arms wrapping around you in a vice grip and nearly cutting off your airflow. Behind them, Jane walks up, showing a good deal more restraint than Roxy. You shoot her a pleading, helpless look, and she rolls her eyes, grinning, before gently prying Roxy off of you.

“Okay, Rox, let the man breathe! You wouldn’t want to accidentally strangle Jake, now, would you?”

Roxy giggles, batting at Jane’s hands. “Relax, Janey, you know our boy Jake grew up all big and strong. He can handle a hug from li’l old me!” They reach over and squeeze your bicep in one hand, as if to prove their point, before they turn their gaze to Dirk, their smile mischievous. Panic immediately blossoms in your chest. “And who’s this, Jake? You make a friend without us?”

You swallow hard, suddenly nervous for no explicable reason. “Uh, yes! I suppose. This is Dirk Strider! We took economics together way back in the day. Dirk, this is Jane, my cousin, and Roxy, a childhood friend of ours.”

Dirk seems to have retreated back into his default mode of cold, statuesque affectation. All he does to acknowledge your friends is nod slightly in their direction. “Sup?”

“Nice to meet you!” Jane replies, her smile all sunshine, but you know her well enough to hear the slight strain in her voice, to catch when her nostrils flare imperceptibly- even small shows of impoliteness can piss her off, and Dirk’s one-word greeting is anything but customary. You’ll have to convince her later that Dirk means well, that he isn’t trying to snub them. That’s just the way he is. Though you can’t really be too sure, you’ve only really been talking to the guy for the past, what, fifteen minutes? How long has it been?

To make matters worse, Dirk doesn’t even attempt to return the nicety. Fuck. You’re not looking forward to the inevitable rant you’ll have to talk Jane down from.

Roxy takes the lull in the conversation as an invitation to butt in. They shove you aside just enough to plop down between you and Dirk, resting an elbow on your shoulder even though you’re a good deal taller than them. They lean towards Dirk, who you can tell immediately feels uncomfortable from the way his posture straightens and the tightness returns to his shoulders. “So, Jake, why didn’t you inform me you were talking to a straight-up cutie?”

Dirk coughs, surprised, which is totally unfair because only _you’re_ supposed to be able to make him react like that and _wow where the dickens did that thought come from you barely know this guy._ Roxy only smirks expectantly, glancing between you and Dirk. “Well, Roxy,” you begin, wishing you could be anywhere but here right now. You love Roxy, you do, but sometimes they can be… overwhelming. And at this point, you have enough on your plate trying to figure out what makes Strider tick without also having to worry about what strange flirty comment Roxy might say next. “I didn’t really think it was all that important to notify you of Dirk’s presence.”

“Oh, but you shoulda, he’s a total hottie. Babe material right here.”

You facepalm, groaning, because you’re sure at this point your cheeks are heating up and you’d rather hide that even if it means admitting you’re embarrassed. It’s not like you weren’t thinking the exact same thing- you just don’t have the balls to say it so frankly. This time, Dirk manages to hold in his reaction, only turning to face the both of you before speaking. “Yeah, didn’t you know, Jake? When you see a guy as fucking bangin’ as me, you gotta declare a national emergency. Gotta keep everyone’s eyes safe from possibly suffering second-degree burns when they look at me.”

Roxy laughs hard at that, and even Jane has to fight back a snort. You feel torn- on the one hand, earlier you had felt so victorious when you managed to pry a joke out of him, so seeing him drop one for your friends makes that victory feel less sacred, but on the other hand it’s nice that he’s attempting to warm up to them. You smile encouragingly at him, though, because you know that making the effort is hard enough. “Okay, I like this guy,” Roxy replies, swinging an arm around Dirk’s shoulders before you can warn them against it. Fortunately, Dirk doesn’t look too uneasy at the touch. “Can we keep him?”

“Roxy, you can’t just ‘keep’ a person,” Jane protests, jokingly exasperated. At least she doesn’t seem too angry at Dirk anymore. “You’ve already taken in half the street cats in our neighborhood, and Lord knows our apartment has enough strays as is.”

Dirk slickly shrugs his way out from under Roxy’s arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t cause too much trouble. I’m already potty-trained.” This sends the rest of you into another bout of giggles.

“Oh my gosh, Dirk, you are a riot!” Roxy exclaims, slapping his back lightly. “And to think Jakey wasn’t even going to introduce us!”

You shrug, rubbing the back of your neck shyly. “Well, I never said I _wouldn’t_ introduce you. I only really met him just now! You gotta give me a little more time to get to know a guy before introducing him to the family!” There you go again, saying stupidly suggestive shit. “Uh, I mean, I hadn’t the time to figure out his character and whatnot, assess whether his personality would jive with yours.”

“Well, that sounds like a whole lot of bee-ess to me!” Roxy bumps their leg into yours playfully. “I’ve only been talking to him for a minute and I’ve already decided he’s awesome, and my vetting process is _very_ exclusive. It’s a good thing we came over, isn’t it, Jane?”

“Oh, sure,” Jane replies distractedly, barely glancing at Roxy. Her focus is all on you. “Speaking of which! We just stopped by to tell you that we’re planning on leaving soon.”

Well, that’s news to you. Jane and Roxy, leaving a party early? _Maybe_ Jane, if she really wasn’t having a good time, but Roxy? It’s practically unheard of. “Really? But weren’t you enjoying the party?”

“Naw, this shindig isn’t shit.” Roxy crinkles their nose as they gesture towards the rest of the gym. “I don’t remember any of these lame weirdos, and they’re boring as hell to talk to! Either that or they’re only interested in talking about their oh-so-important accomplishments.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Speak for yourself, hypocrite. You were bragging about your computer science advancements for a good five minutes to that poor guy at the snack table.”

“Well, yeah, he had it coming, obvs! Kept complaining about how all his job opportunities were stolen by minorities, and you could just fucking _tell_ he knew I was in earshot. Dumbass needed to be reminded the _real_ reason he can’t get a job is cause he just don’t got haxxor skills like me!” Roxy holds up a hand towards you, and you high-five it as best as you can manage. They then turn to Dirk, hand still raised, waggling their eyebrows suggestively. Dirk begrudgingly gives it a slap, his mouth quirked in bemusement.

“ _In any case_ ,” Jane starts, tugging at Roxy’s arm to pull them out of their seat. They comply, though they elbow Jane teasingly in the process. “We really should get going. J, will you be joining us, or are you getting your own ride?”

“Oh, um…” You glance between your friends and Dirk, feeling more torn than you expected. Honestly, it’s a simple decision- you came here with Jane and Roxy, they’re the only ride you have unless you want to call an Uber, so you should leave with them as well. And yet you’ve barely begun talking to Dirk! Funny how all bets were against you being the one to actually hit it off with someone at this party, since you seem to be the only of your pals to have had any real success. At the beginning of this party, you would’ve jumped at the chance to leave early, but now… “I suppose I’ll be going with you guys! But could you give me a few minutes? You can go on ahead and get the car all jazzed up and whatnot, I’ll be right out in the click of a leprechaun’s heels.”

Jane looks slightly confused, and Dirk almost bewildered- probably more by your word choice than anything, sometimes you hate the corny shit that comes almost unbidden from your rascal of a tongue- but Roxy gives you a knowing glance before taking Jane by the shoulder and steering her aside. “Sure thing, pal. Come on, Jane, gotta get the car ‘jazzed up’, whatever the fuck _that_ means! Why don’t we figure that out together?” Jane protests, even more confused, but Roxy manages to lead her away, shooting you a wink over their shoulder before adding, “Nice meeting you, Dirk! You better be on your best behavior with Jakey!”

Well, now you’re completely mortified. You’re grateful they understood, really, but you’re not sure you like that your feelings are so transparent to them. You hope Dirk can’t see those feelings as easily, that he just thinks Roxy is making a harmless, meaningless joke.

Once your friends are out of earshot, you turn back to Dirk with a sheepish look, plucking absentmindedly at a stray thread on your shorts. “So, it seems I’ll be heading out soon.”

“That _is_ what you just agreed to, yeah.” Dirk’s mouth has fallen back into that little flat line, and you don’t know how to interpret it anymore. Is he disappointed you’re leaving? You really hope so.

Fuck, this next part is going to be really difficult to get out, isn’t it? Really, Jake, you’d think you’d at least be able to manage asking for a fellow’s number. “Well, I guess I just wanted to hang back a bit to tell you I’ve really had a blast flapping our gums away.”

“Hell yeah, we flapped our gums, alright. Flapped that shit so hard they took off in flight. Just got the report back and, yep, our gums are now breaching Earth’s atmosphere. Should get to the Moon in record time.”

Okay, at least this guy has some words to say that are just as insanely strange as yours, except he somehow makes his nerdy shit sound passably cool? You really are just completely outmatched. “Well, I don’t know much about flying gums and interstellar travel and all that, but I _do_ know you really made this party a humdinger of a time. Without you I’m quite sure I would have been bored as the bloody dickens, so it’s really much appreciated!”

“No problem, dude. I enjoyed it, too, surprisingly. Didn’t think I’d find anyone worth wasting my time talking to here.” He stares at you as he says this, his gaze as intense as it is elusive, and it takes everything in you to keep your cheeks from going red. Not that you can really tell, but maybe if you concentrate hard enough on it, you can control it? Okay, you’re probably just scrunching up your face now and looking like a constipated idiot, so you’re just going to drop it.

“Yeah, so glad you decided to… waste time on me!” You force out a chuckle, but it feels so unnatural that you almost immediately cut it off. God, you’re a wreck right now, but you’re running out of time. You’ll just have to spit it out. “Maybe… if it weren’t too much trouble… and if you wanted to _continue_ wasting time on me… Well, could I quite possibly wrangle some digits out of you? I mean, phone-wise!” Holy _fuck_ why did you phrase it like that. “Though, of course, I wouldn’t want to bother you or take up any more of your precious time if you’ve already wasted too much, but-”

Dirk laughs, which startles you so much that you completely stop. It’s an actual, full-blown laugh too, completely unlike his previous subdued ones. “Jesus H. Dick, Jake. You can calm down. I’m not actually wasting time here, you know. I didn’t really have much else to do today? Or really any fucking day. I’ve got storerooms full of free time, actually. Mistakenly thought I’d need some stocked for my doomsday bunker, and now I can’t spend that shit fast enough.” He pauses, and you notice that his fingers have begun their little tapdance on his leg once again. “Hand over your phone, I’ll put my info in.”

It takes you a few moments to process that he actually agreed to your stumbling, bizarrely-worded request. You pull out your phone and unlock it for him, then watch in a shocked daze as he fills in the little contact info boxes. When he passes the phone back to you, you don’t even glance at the screen to check if he actually put a viable number in there. You just pocket it and immediately shoot up into a standing position.

“Well now! Glad that’s settled. I should really get a move on, now, wouldn’t want to keep Janey waiting, but rest assured you’ll be hearing from me soon, Mr. Strider! Again, it was quite lovely to chat with you.”

He gives you the tiniest of self-assured grins from his seated position. What’s he got to be so smug about? “Likewise, Jake. I’ll be looking forward to that text.”

You hurry away, partly because you don’t want to inconvenience your friends, and partly because you need to get away from that far-too-knowing gaze before he figures you out. As much as you like talking to him, he’s much too smart for his own good, or yours, for that matter. 

It’s only when you’re halfway to the car that you realize you didn’t find anyone to co-host your show with you.


	3. Chapter 3

After a week of hemming and hawing and arguing with yourself, you finally decide you have to bite the bullet and text Dirk. It’s not like you don’t want to- it wasn’t often you hit it off so well with a stranger at a party. In fact, most of the time you decide to actually socialize at such events, you swallow down your discomfort and awkwardness and pretend to have a grand old time and, eventually, attract the attention of those who think you as shallow as they. You can only stand such interactions when inebriated, and usually end up taking the most polite escape you can. That just hadn’t been an option at the college reunion- maybe if you’d realized there was alcohol in the punch earlier, or if you hadn’t hightailed it out of there so early, you might have ended up fraternizing with strangers, but you never had the chance to get settled in enough to do anything like that.

Which is why you’re genuinely glad that Dirk, someone you actually found interesting, decided to approach you. In the little time you’ve known him, he’s become an itch you desperately want to scratch, a puzzle whose pieces you’re dying to put together. He’s weird, sure, and as undecipherable as Wadi el-Hol script, but the parts you _have_ figured out completely arrest your attention, and you can’t help but be tempted to translate the rest of him. You’ve caught a case of cat-like curiosity and you’re rather drawn to him, a helpless moth fluttering ever closer to a flame.

The only difference is, you know what awaits certain inquisitive felines, and you’re not so stupid as a moth to not recognize the danger a fire presents. Something about Dirk has you raising your hackles, though you’re not too sure why. He puts you on edge with his knowing glances and his scarily accurate insight. You’re afraid if you try to unravel the mystery that is Dirk Strider, he’ll unravel you first, and then once he figures you out for the sad fraud you are, he’ll disappear. Maybe that’s just you being paranoid. Then again, you know best just how shaky your walls get sometimes, and Dirk might be the one person sharp enough to knock them down with one well-placed kick.

On the other hand- or really, the hand you started this whole back-and-forth on- you _do_ find him more than a little captivating. Not to mention you’re hurting for a friend who isn’t your cousin or your cousin’s best friend- no offense meant to Roxy, or Jane for that matter, you just feel like a bit of a third wheel there since they knew each other first, and when you turned down Roxy’s advances quite a few years ago, things got mildly complicated. So, yes, you could really use a friend, hopefully a _close_ friend, though you’re not a beggar so you’ll take what you can get.

Besides, you still need a partner for your new Youtube venture. By the looks of things, you’re probably not going to make any deep connections with strangers, at least not in the same way you’ve latched on to Dirk, seeing how you’ve lost any drive to actually go out and meet people. The disastrous university party was proof enough that you’re woefully unequipped for social interaction for the time being.

It would behoove you to inquire about your newly acquired friend’s availability or gauge his interest in your latest project. Hell, you could at least figure out if he has any experience in video editing- or just video-making in general. Though, you think he would’ve mentioned something of the sort when you’d brought up your own videos.

Only problem is, you’ll have to find a way to casually work all that into your conversation. Can’t have him thinking you only contacted him for your own self-interest or to bolster your channel! You’re trying to build a _friendly_ relationship with him, not a professional one. Lord knows you have enough of those, what with the distance you keep from your archaeology colleagues; aside from Aradia, you barely interact with them outside of work.

Having accepted your fate, you decide to check out his contact as you lounge around in your empty living room. He’d kept it simple, inputting his first name and number. Only thing that stands out is that, as you scroll down to the notes section, you see he’s also provided you with his chumhandle. You haven’t used Pesterchum in years, not since you and your friends grew up and got phones with texting capabilities. It gives you a welcome jolt of nostalgia to see the username, so you decide, almost on a whim and perhaps against better judgement, to contact him from there. You pull up your old app, send him a friend request, and, quite unexpectedly, he accepts less than a minute later.

Well, then. You suppose you better christen the chatbox. All you gotta do is act natural! Easy-peasy.

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 15:24 --

GT: Hello there chap this is jake english reporting for duty! I presume i am in contact with the inimitable dirk strider? 

Jesus frigging Christ. So much for natural.

TT: The one and only.

TT: Actually, that begs the question. Do you think there are any other Dirk Striders out there?

TT: Dirk isn’t a very common name, and the only other person I know of whose last name is Strider is that one guy who ran for Senate.

TT: Lemme check real quick.

TT: And… looks like chances are extremely low on that one so I’m just gonna go ahead and assume I’m it.

TT: I stand by my statement. Unless you can prove otherwise, I’m the one and only Dirk Strider.

TT: Now, your name is a lot more common. Looks like there’s at least seven of you in the U.S. alone.

TT: Sorry, bro, guess you’re just not that unique.

Sheesh, you didn’t realize how much this guy would talk. In person, sure, he’d spit out a few paragraphs from time to time, but most of his dialogue stayed delegated to one or two sentences. You suppose online he feels more comfortable laying words on thick? It doesn’t help that his replies come so insanely fast. He must be an extremely quick typer.

GT: Thats all well and good im not too terribly bothered with the uniqueness of my name. Id say i rather make up for it with my personality!

TT: You could put it that way. I’d probably phrase it, “My weird character traits are so niche and awful that no one could compare,” but what you said works too.

GT: Damn dirk you really know how to go straight for the jugular dont you! No matter its not like that comment hurt or anything. *finds nearest corner to lick wounds in*

TT: What can I say? I don’t pull my punches. If someone happens to be standing where my fist lands, well, I can’t be blamed for the collateral damage.

GT: Actually yes you can its this little thing called accidental manslaughter and it has extremely real legal You could land some serious jail time mister so you might want to watch yourself in the future.

TT: Eh, I’ll take my chances with the justice system. Bet as soon as I get called to the stand, I convince the jury of my innocence with my sympathetic testimony. Not a single dry eye left in the courtroom, I can guaran-fucking-tee that.

You snort at that, staring at your phone with something akin to fondness. He cracks a lot more jokes online, too, and you’re not complaining, even if his astounding wit means he takes the advantage in most of your conversational spats.

GT: Right. The guy whose face is locked in a nearly perpetual neutral stare is going to give a sympathetic testimony. Frankly id be surprised if you managed to elicit a single emotional response aside from maybe aggravation or even anger!

TT: So you doubt my abilities to sell a convincingly pitiful story?

GT: No I just doubt your ability to convey anything aside from complete apathy.

TT: Wow. You know, I _do_ have feelings, Jake. Though I think I just had them broken by a certain guy I know. Gonna have to stop by the Dollar Store for some replacements later.

GT: Do you always acquire your feelings from the dollar store? Maybe if you saved for the more expensive stuff they wouldnt break so easily.

TT: Said the man speaking from a position of relative monetary comfort. Did it cross your mind that I might not be able to splurge on feelings? You might turn your nose up at the cheap shit, but some people rely on that to get by.

Shit. You hope you didn’t step on a nerve with your comment, though you’re pretty certain he’s messing with you like usual. Between the lofty inheritance Grandma Jade left you and your cushy position, the idea of shitty financial situations is sometimes a bit of a blind spot for you. You’re a fallible person, just as much as any other schluck on this planet, and your ignorance is bound to lead to you making many mistakes. You just gotta recognize and own up to your missteps when they happen.

GT: Oh! My apologies chap didnt mean it as an indictment on your character! Just because you dont spring for a more expensive model of feelings or whatnot doesnt mean your feelings are less quality!

TT: No offense taken. I mean, my discount feelings were already broken, I don’t think they can get hurt any further.

GT: Haha right sorry.

GT: Not to pry or anything and in fact feel free to completely disregard this question if its crossing a line but i must ask if youre actually strapping for cash or just pulling my leg?

TT: Why can’t it be both?

GT: Right… Well, my apology stands anyway.

TT: Yeah. Not that it matters, because, again, only got broken feelings over here.

GT: Youre ridiculous.

TT: Yeah? And what does that make you, then?

He’s got you there. Again, Dirk takes the gambit in your exchange. You’ll have to claw for any advantage you can get now.

GT: Well fine ill admit i can be a bit ridiculous at times but my brand of ridiculousness is much tamer compared to yours.

TT: Care to explain what exactly that’s supposed to mean?

GT: I mean that because my mannerisms are a bit outdated and harken back to the simpler days of the past they arent so much ridiculous as they are old fashioned. Meanwhile your affectations are steeped like an especially bitter tea in the facets of irony and ninja elusiveness and stoic bullhonkey all of which im sure is quite unmatched in any other person. At the very least i cant think of a single person whose character is anything like yours.

TT: Alright, I can concede to that. My rad style is irreplicable, and I would argue no one comes even close to holding a candle to it, aside from maybe Dave, so I can understand why not having a precedent to something this cool could make the way I am seem ridiculous.

TT: Let me assure you, though, that I am anything but.

GT: Sure whatever you want to tell yourself dirk!

GT: Quite frankly i find your character humorously strange but not in a terrible way! I believe it has the capability to grow on me.

TT: Trust me, it will, whether you want it to or not. This shit’s like a cancer- once it latches on, good luck trying to get rid of it.

GT: Well that isnt concerning in the slightest!

GT: Is your brother actually similar to you in your ironic “cool” way of doing things?

TT: Yeah, I guess, seeing how he basically imprinted on me and tried to copy me in every aspect. Until he realized just how impossible of a task that is and decided to branch out to his own style, which was honestly for the better because he’s much more natural at his own brand of comedy.

TT: Also, fuck you for putting quotes around cool. I’m as cool as cool gets, Jake. You can’t deny that.

GT: Actually i can and i will continue to do so until you prove otherwise.

TT: Just gimme a week, I’ll change your mind.

GT: Fat chance of that!

The conversation’s going pretty well, you think. At least, it’s flowing a lot better than you expected, which is why you’re not looking forward to eventually having to break the flow to talk about your need for a co-host. Maybe you can just slide it in and he’ll go along with it?

GT: Cripes. Im so peeved right now.

Yeah, _real_ smooth, English.

TT: Um… at me?

GT: No not at you dirk.

You hesitate, because you really bungled up that transition and you’ve no idea how to even bring this up at this point. You really don’t want to push him away or make him think you’re only in it for the Youtube thing. While your channel is somewhat important to you, at the end of the day its just a hobby; it’s not like you rely on it for funds or anything.

TT: …

TT: Alright then. You gonna tell me why or are you waiting for me to ask?

GT: Oh yes i was planning on telling you im just trying to figure out how to phrase it.

TT: Take your time, then.

GT: Well… its just that i went to that blasted college party to find someone to join me on my channel. And then of course i didnt meet anyone aside from you.

GT: So i suppose the whole things bust because its not like im going to have the chance to meet more like-minded people any time soon.

GT: Not to mention i need to brush up on my social skills.

GT: You wouldnt happen to know anyone who might be interested in co-hosting with me? Perhaps someone with an interest in paranormal investigation or at the very least the skills to edit videos?

Wow, you think you actually did a decent job circumventing the real question there. Instead of asking him outright, you managed to put the impetus on him to mention his interest, or lack thereof, in your new venture. As long as he doesn’t actually have friends who fit the bill. Not that you would be averse to having that option, you guess, but you’re starting to get more invested in the idea of having Dirk in your videos. You’re not looking for excuses to hang out with him or anything, you just think he’s more than capable of being your partner. And by that you mean your video-making partner, of course, not any other misconstruction of the word.

TT: Not that I can think of. I’m not exactly drowning in friends over here. Just wading in this awful two-inch puddle with my floaties on, looking like a real dumbass.

TT: I guess Dave’s pretty interested in your channel, even if he’s more of a paleontology guy. I dunno how he feels about ghosts and spirits and shit, though he does have a fascination with dead things, so he might be down to help you.

Oh right, his brother. You somehow forgot that Dave’s the one who actually watches your videos. You may have just royally screwed this up.

TT: His editing skills, on the other hand… well, I can’t say he’s bad, exactly. He definitely has the capability to make a well put-together video. But his style of editing involves purposefully making everything look like garbage, so unless he pulled his act together and got serious about your whole project, which I doubt he would, he probably wouldn’t be the best fit for you.

TT: Not sure how you two would get along, either. He’s mentioned on multiple occasions that he finds some of the things you say annoying and only really watches your vids to see the cool shit you dig up.

TT: So I definitely could ask him if you’re really hurting for a co-host, but I doubt it would work out.

GT: Well that’s a relief to hear!

TT: It is? Shouldn’t you be disappointed I don’t have anyone who’s interested?

Fuck you running. You’d think you would learn to watch what you’re saying around this sharpshooter. The only course of action now is to just reveal your hand before you place any more bets and fuck yourself over further.

GT: I think youre forgetting about someone.

TT: Who, exactly?

GT: You of course!

GT: In truth my main purpose in inquiring was to suss out whether you might be interested in taking up the mantle as it were but since that didnt occur to you i thought it best to just be forthright with it.

TT: I… see. Why didn’t you just ask me, then, if you only wanted to gauge my willingness to join?

GT: Well i couldnt have you believing that i only contacted you for my own means! I imagine that would quite disparage the image you hold of me. That is if its not already tainted.

GT: I hope you do not think too poorly of me now that the cats out of the bag. If i may try to repair my sullied reputation id like to clarify that the whole youtube thing wasnt the main reason i decided to reach out to you! You seem like a fun and interesting guy and i was raring to get to know you better.

TT: Don’t worry, dude, I get it. I don’t think any less of you, so you can untwist your knickers there. Your concern for your video series is admirable, and honestly I respect the hustle.

You notice, with a growing amount of anxiety, that he’s purposefully dancing around answering your question. You’re pretty sure that could only mean one of two things- either he’s messing with you or he’s delaying giving you bad news. You think either way you’re just going to have to prompt him to get a straight answer.

GT: So are you interested then?

TT: Possibly. I am much more adept at editing videos than my brother. Really, I’m extremely proficient at all things technological, so I could definitely get a quality finished product out.

TT: As for the whole paranormal investigation thing, I’m what most would call a nonbeliever. Not that I’m not interested in the topic, but I definitely think most of it is bullshit. So if you’re lookin’ for someone who’s actually invested, I ain’t the best pick.

TT: Not to mention most people find my commentary about as dry as the Sahara. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I don’t hesitate to absolutely flame anyone who deserves it, which usually doesn’t gain me favor with them. I doubt that would exactly win over your fans, especially compounded with me staunchly denying the existence of ghosts.

Damn. Looks like he’s going to need convincing. Unfortunately for you, your persuasive skills are severely lacking. You’ve definitely got your work cut out for you.

You don’t know why you want this so badly, but at this point you’re practically obsessing over the idea of working with him. If it takes everything in you to coax him into becoming your co-host, well, you’re willing to give it all and then some.

GT: Dont sell yourself so short bucko! Sure you make an abundance of scathing comments that always manage to cut to the bone but im sure viewers would actually find that rather entertaining. I dunno if youve noticed but internet users arent the most pleasant of folks! They like to have a firebrand personality to stoke up the flames of animosity and i cant think of a person more fitted to that role.

GT: And of course that all pairs perfectly with your disbelief in the supernatural! It gives something for the fans to dissent against.

GT: Or at the very least we could play up arguing about it seeing how im a firm believer in all things ghostly.

TT: You actually believe that shit?

GT: Of course i do dirk didnt you see the encounter i had in my video?

TT: All I saw a dark blur in a darker hallway, so I wouldn’t exactly classify that as an “encounter”. Unless there’s something else you’re referring to?

GT: No i only had the one encounter. Ill admit the footage isnt the most convincing but im pretty doggone certain of what i saw with my own perfectly working eyes!

Well, you don’t entirely believe that your vision wasn’t the product of a number of other completely mundane things, but you’re not going to tell _him_ that. As far as he gets to know, you’re absolutely positive that what you saw was a ghost. Hopefully that’ll be something that gets him on board the show, if only to counteract your claims that ghosts exist.

TT: The same eyes you need prescription glasses for?

GT: Yes! If anything the glasses just mean i could see even better and thus what i saw mustve actually been there.

TT: Unless the lens was smudged somehow.

GT: Oh shut it! The fact of the matter is i encountered something in that underground passage and no amount of logical rationale is going to convince me otherwise! It stands that any explanation for the whole experience holds equal merit to any other and thus im inclined to believe the one that makes the most sense to me which is that what i saw was none other than an extremely spooky specter!

TT: Haha alright, dude, whatever you say. I don’t think we’ll have to play up our arguments on the subject if you’re always that defensive about it.

Funnily enough, you genuinely felt like you were defending your position, even though internally you’re not quite sure how much credibility it holds, and the ground you’re standing on is getting shakier the longer you speak. You actually have to take a moment to breathe and collect yourself from your only half-pretend tirade before getting back on topic.

GT: Whatever bro weve rather derailed from our previous topic. All im trying to say is arguments like that plus whatever snarky comments you inevitably throw in are going to be fodder for discourse among the crowd of viewers. Thatll create engagement and entertainment and will probably bring us bucketloads of success.

TT: I guess I see what you mean. The internet really is a cesspool of some of the worst scum on this God-forsaken planet, so it makes sense that they would feed off any antagonism between us, or between me and them.

TT: Hell, they might even pick sides and fight between themselves. It’ll be Team Edward versus Team Jacob all over again, except now it’s you against me, mano a mano.

GT: Oh did you watch the twilight movies too? Please tell me you were on team jacob as well! Really hes the only viable option.

TT: No, I didn’t watch those trashy chick flicks. You couldn’t pay me to go near them with a ten-foot pole.

GT: Aw bummer we will definitely have to watch them together sometime.

TT: Not happening.

TT: Though I guess I can at least concede that Lautner is a much more attractive guy than Pattinson.

GT: Exactly my reasoning! Plus jacob is so much more of a rugged macho man what with the whole werewolf thing hes got going on! Edward just looks pale and emotionless the whole danged time and its really not appealing. Wheres the romance? The attractive pull towards something clearly dangerous and yet irresistible? Sure edward has the whole vampire thing going on and thats plenty dangerous but theres nothing threatening about that sparkly whitebread void of a love interest!

Jesus, what the hell are you doing? It’s almost like you don’t even want to stay on-topic at this point.

GT: Anyways thats all unimportant i dunno where i thought i was going with that whole discussion.

GT: Look im about ready to stop beating around the bush and i think that poor bruised up bush is feeling the same way. I believe ive laid out my argument to the best of my ability so ill just ask you again rather than continue trying to convince you. Are you going to join my show or not?

TT: You know what? Why the fuck not. I ain’t exactly swamped with work now or ever, so I have the time. At the very least it should be fun.

An intense wave of relief washes over you at reading those words, immediately followed by a nervous excitement. For better or worse, it seems you’re about to spend a lot more time with Dirk Strider.

TT: And if it ain’t my thing, I could always just quit.

GT: Thats the spirit chap! I cant tell you how heartened i am to hear those words. Or see them rather.

GT: Not the ones about quitting obviously though if you really wanted to do that after a while i wouldnt stand in your way and in fact you would be quite warranted in doing so if you end up not enjoying yourself.

GT: But thats no matter really! Lets focus on just how absolutely thrilled i am to be working with you.

TT: Yeah I know. I’m a pretty big deal. NAFTA looks downright pitiful compared to me.

GT: Oh come off it ever heard of modesty? You could at least pretend youre looking forward to this venture.

TT: Never said I wasn’t. Just cause I omitted my feelings of reciprocation doesn’t mean you gotta jump the gun and assume I don’t reciprocate at all.

GT: So… you ARE looking forward to it?

TT: Haven’t I made it clear enough at this point?

GT: Well it could always be made clearer perhaps through some sort of confirmation.

TT: Jesus, Jake. Thought this shit was crystal, but if you really need me to polish it to a fucking gleam, then yes, I’ll admit I’m anticipating this a little more than any other plans I have for the future.

TT: Are you satisfied? Do I need to spit-shine this one for you? I could pull out the really expensive glass cleaner I keep on hand for important guests, and before you ask, no, it’s not from the Dollar Store, jackass. I have _some_ fucking class.

An uninhibited giggle escapes your lips, keeping you from responding as quickly as you’d like. Yeah, you don’t think Dirk will have any problems entertaining your viewers.

GT: No i think youve quite drilled in the point there.

TT: Awesome. Glad we’re finally on the same page.

GT: Well i wouldve gotten there sooner if youd just told me what page number you were on in the first place!

TT: Fair.

TT: So… what exactly is this gonna entail for me?

GT: Im not so sure on the specifics yet aside from you accompanying me to various haunted sites and of course appearing on camera. Your only real responsibility outside of that will be editing the videos for me. You dont have to worry about research or filming or anything i have that pretty well covered.

GT: I think it’d be best to ease in to the whole thing. Wherever we go first should be a pretty lowkey locale just so we can get our bearings straight with this whole video making process.

TT: Sounds like a good plan. Any idea where exactly that’s gonna be?

You’d already done plenty of research on famous ghost-sighting locations in the United States, prior to even meeting Dirk, so when he asks the question you’re already prepared with an answer.

GT: I know the perfect place.


	4. Chapter 4

“So… are you ready?”

Dirk doesn’t react at first, opting to stare up at the white wood siding in front of you instead, his mouth turned down at the corners. The house certainly isn’t much- just some unassuming, well-kept, early nineteenth-century abode that wouldn’t stand out to you if not for the sign out front proclaiming it to be The Villisca Ax Murder House. You thought it would be best to start with something simple, just to get him acclimated to the whole video-making process. You assumed this tourist attraction would be a good choice for your journey into paranormal investigation, since, while it was the sight of a few grisly murders and some ghost encounters since, it’s most likely not actually crawling with specters. You’re _pretty_ sure a lot of that is just played up for popularity, especially given that the ‘evidence’ provided is about as convincing as a special effect in an eighties action movie. Beginning in a regular-looking house would hopefully make it easier for you both to relax and get in a rhythm when it comes to laying out your research.

But standing in front of it now- your backpack of equipment slung over one shoulder and your camcorder, which you already have rolling and pointed at the house in question, held in the opposite hand- you suddenly feel… small. The place, while a bit quaint and not at all scary, still gives you an uneasy vibe. Something about how the black tiled roof looms over the porch, casting the front door in dark shadow, just feels downright _menacing_. You have half a mind to turn tail, get back in the car, and drive away, but you’re committed to doing this. You will _not_ let your irrational thoughts on any possible specters scare you out of your wits and reasoning, oh no. You will, however, give Dirk as many chances as possible to change his mind and back out of this whole affair.

Dirk, for the most part, seems unaffected by the creepy atmosphere of the place. When he finally glances at you, he only shrugs nonchalantly. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Which is to say, pretty fucking prepared. All the hatches are battened down on the S.S. Strider, we are a go for Operation: Prove Ghosts Are Fake As Shit.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples with your free hand. “We talked about this already, Dirk. It’s just not possible to completely disprove the existence of ghosts. Not having evidence for their existence doesn’t mean they aren’t real! And-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you had an ‘encounter’,” he says, actually making air quotes. The nerve, you swear. “An encounter that could be explained away by actual scientific explanations before being contributed to a ghost. Could’ve been stress or lack of sleep. Or maybe something chemical. You never know with those underground passages when one might be brimming with some poisonous, hallucination-causing element. Phosphorus, maybe?”

As if your own doubtful mind wasn’t enough of an enemy. You don’t need _him_ to remind you of the reasonable explanations behind your ghost sighting. Then again, his insistence that your phantom was an imagined one always puts you on the defensive, so if anything he might just be bolstering your stubborn will to believe. “First of all, Dirk, you _know_ that they test the air and such before letting anyone explore down there, because, yes, workplace safety is an actual concern to my employers! Second of all, I was of completely sound mind at the time, and I haven’t any history with stress-ghouls haunting me. So again, I love hearing your _scientific_ explanations, but until you find one that actually makes sense, I’m inclined to not discredit any theories of paranormal nature, and I’ll continue believing that what I saw was quite real.”

He’s used to these rants from you by now, and he knows full well you won’t back down, and yet he continues needling at you. “By your logic, you can’t completely rule out my explanations, though. Maybe whoever was testing the air missed something, or maybe this is just the first of many hallucinations for you.” He tries to hide his grin, but you notice it. Of course, it’s a shit-eating one, because when are his grins _not_ shit-eating? “Could be you’re coming down with a debilitating mental disorder, and these are the first signs. You could prevent it now if you faced facts and stopped accrediting your delusions to ghosts.”

You elbow him, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard enough schlock from you. I’m perfectly healthy, and it’s quite rude of you to insinuate my noggin isn’t in top-notch shape, because it _is_.”

“Okay, bro, I believe you. Not about the ghosts, obviously, about your mental soundness. Still think a trip to a psychiatrist wouldn’t hurt, but it’s not really my business if you get your head checked, and I ain’t one to dictate that to you, or anyone else, for that matter. That’d be hypocritical of me, given all the shit crammed into my own head that I refuse to get checked out.”

You chuckle at that, patting his shoulder. At least he knows how to relieve the tension. That should make this marginally less terrifying for you. “Alright, chap. That’s quite enough of your cerebral fiddle-faddle. Shall we go inside, then?”

“Yeah, I said I was ready. Are _you_?”

“Of course I am!” You fiddle the camera, pointing at yourself and Dirk just so you can give it a wink as you deliver your line. “You know me, always raring for an adventure! I don’t see how this is any different.”

“Well, you _say_ that, and yet we’re still standing here, discussing whether we’re ready like a pair of especially nervous teenagers about to have sex for the first time.” Why do his metaphors always have to involve sexual topics? It makes it incredibly hard for you to concentrate. Also, he knows this is going up on the interweb, right? You might have to cut this out of the video. Not because he’s embarrassing you or anything. You’re just thinking of the _children_ . Right. “Makes me wonder if you’re _actually_ ready, or just stalling for time.”

“Me, stall for time? What do you take me for? I’m not some run-of-the-mill weeping pansy, and I’m certainly not afraid of the ghostly victims of some ax murderer from over a century ago!”

“Then let’s head in.”

“Right-o. Just let me…” You adjust your bag on your shoulder, glancing over at him and swallowing down the lump in your throat. This is fine! You’ll be completely fine. If anything goes wrong, Dirk is there to… what, protect you? You don’t know what he could possibly do against intangible assailants, but you still feel moderately safer with him at your side. As long as you’re not alone, you’re sure you’ll be alright.

With all your courage gathered, you march towards the porch, head held high. You’re tempted to look back and make sure Dirk is close behind, but you don’t, because that would be showing that you have doubts about this whole thing and you can’t do that! You’ll just have to trust he’s there.

You’re so wound up that you almost jump out of your boots when you see the owner of the house standing outside the door, even though you _knew_ you would be meeting her here. The porch had just been so gosh-darned dark that you hadn’t been able to make anything out earlier. Thankfully, you don’t show your surprise, and manage to compose yourself enough to introduce yourself and Dirk. After asking you to shut down the camera, she promptly gives you a tour, which you appreciate greatly. It does a lot to put you at ease, and you almost start to feel comfortable with the place, given how casually she walks around. Sure, she plays up the horror aspect a bit as she talks, laying out the history of the house, the crime committed, and the trial and hysteria in the town thereafter- all of which you’d already learned in your research. Even as she points out sterilized rooms where, over a century ago, children were brutally chopped up, you find yourself detached from the actual terror of it all, though you’re still certainly interested. Dirk, for his part, stays quiet throughout the entire tour, peering around each room with an uncanny alertness that you’ve never seen him exhibit. You’re not sure what he could be checking for- you guess it’s possible he’s a neat-freak, and he’s looking out for mice or cobwebs or something of the sort. The place is tidy, as far as you can tell, though you’re not the most discerning when it comes to these things. Either way, the owner surely keeps things in order, given that the place is a public attraction and all. But Dirk scans every room you enter, taking extra-long with any of the rooms that once housed a murder scene.

“Hoping to see a ghost already?” the owner jokes- you believe her name was Martha- after Dirk stares into the master bedroom, the sight of the first two murders, for a whole minute. The comment seems to startle him out of his stupor, and he turns to the owner, face eerily flat, as it usually is around anyone he doesn’t know well. 

“Yeah. Thought my presence might draw some of those fuc- _phantoms_ out.” You notice his attempt to censor himself, and though you appreciate his attempt to uphold a modicum of decency around this older lady, you also have to hold back a laugh at his expense. The poor guy is so out of his element. “I’m what you might call _attractive_ to all those of a paranormal persuasion. They can’t keep their ghostly hands off me.”

Martha glances at you, brow furrowed, then back at Dirk, before cracking a pleasant, if somewhat condescending, smile. You suppose Dirk’s humor is a bit too crass for her liking. “Well. Then maybe you’ll be luckier than most and catch one tonight?”

“That’s the plan!” you say quickly. It might only be four in the afternoon, but you do want to hurry this along a bit, get to the _real_ exciting stuff. Even if you’re dreading being left to your own devices here. “We _are_ investigating them and all, so, of course we’d want to garner a bit of evidence!”

“Right, right. Moving on…” She continues the tour, taking you through the other rooms on the second floor. You make a resolution to stay quiet for the rest of the tour, hoping to get it over with quickly.

This resolution, of course, nearly breaks when you enter the attic and see a huge terrifying clown doll. You just manage to swallow down your scream, not wanting to disturb or interrupt the tour any more than you already have, but Martha gives you a knowing glance and makes an offhand comment about how it was likely a toy one of the children had. That doesn’t stop you from getting the willies every time you glance at the infernal thing.

Dirk, for his part, doesn’t say a word about the doll, though you expected him to. You suppose his quiet is a product of his hyper-vigilant mode of surveying the rooms. It’s almost surreal how shut off he seems to be to the rest of the world. You hope whatever stupor he’s in dissipates by the time the tour guide leaves, or you’re going to be a hell of a lot more bored than you are now.

You finally finish up on the second floor, and Martha leads you all back down the twisted, creaking stairwell and into the kitchen. She lays out the ground rules, which are pretty simple- don’t break anything, don’t leave any messes behind, no smoking in the house or sleeping on the beds, be ready to leave in the morning by 9:30. Then she hands you the keys and is out the door before you can say yippee ki yay. Just like that, it’s you and Dirk. In a haunted house. Completely alone. Except for the ghosts, of course. Suddenly you feel a lot less comfortable.

“So… now what?” Dirk asks, setting down the sleeping bags you forced him to carry on the scratched wooden floor before raising an eyebrow at you. He makes a casual move to lean against one of the blue-gray granite counters, arms crossed, but it looks so awkward and forced that you have to wonder where he gets his idea of ‘casual’ from. “You set up your equipment, we do our little song-and-dance vis-a-vis the video, we grab dinner, and then… nap time?”

You nod, plopping your own things down on a chair next to the cluttered kitchen table. The owner put out old-fashioned plates and pans and such to give an accurate portrayal of what the house may have looked like back in its hey-day, but the idea of abandoned, unused dishware just sitting there, collecting dust, kind of gives you the willies. Like at any moment the murdered family might just appear and start putting their dishes away. “Yessiree. I thought maybe we could go through the house again, plan what bits of research we want to point out in which rooms, you know. Never can be too prepared with these things!”

“Guess not.” He goes silent momentarily as you rummage through your bag, pulling out your notebook and rifling through the few pages of information you have on the place. “You wrote everything in that? Ever heard of a laptop?”

“Well, take me to church and call me a sinner, but I prefer to take all my notes the real way! When will your generation learn that it doesn’t hurt to use real pen and paper?”

“Just because you talk like you lived through both World Wars doesn’t change the fact that we’re in the same fucking generation, and it’s not the one that’s traumatized by gunfire and Nazis.”

“I beg to differ.” That’s right, you’re up-to-date on current events, you know about all the awful things still running rampant in the world.

Dirk just waves away your comment. “Also, handwritten notes are highly ineffective. Writing takes a hell of a lot longer than typing, causes worse hand cramps than sword fighting does, and at the end of the day you don’t have a backup for when you inevitably misplace them or spill coffee on them or some other romcom-esque minor tragedy takes place. Unless you’re taking the time to make copies, which I doubt.”

So Dirk sword fights, then? You’re just going to tuck that information away for later. “Well, _I’ve_ never had a problem with losing any of my valuable notes! Perhaps you’re just clumsier than I?” You try to punctuate your point by thrusting the notebook at him, except you’d forgotten you’d stashed a few photographs and other things you’d printed in there, and they immediately flutter out as soon as your grip loosens. Dirk snorts as he watches you scramble to pick everything up.

“Yeah, I’m definitely the clumsy one here. Hit the nail right on the head. You’re already turning out to be an excellent investigator.”

“Oh, shut it,” you snap, slapping the papers against his chest as you stand up. He only shakes his head, fighting back another smirk, and as you stare at that smirk you realize just how close you’re standing to him. How’d you get from across the room to here so fast? You step back, take a gander around the room, decide that the butter churner in the far corner is much more interesting than Dirk, and hightail it over there.

“I always wanted to learn how to use one of these things,” you comment, if only to distract from the heat on your face.

Dirk’s footsteps are light, though not enough to keep the floor from creaking beneath him. He comes up next to you, which if anything just makes you more flustered. The whole idea in pointing this stupid contraption out was to get away from him, but that plan has been dashed to the wind much quicker than you expected. “Seems pretty self-explanatory. Just turn the handle here.” He reaches around you as if to grab the handle, his arm wrapping over your shoulder in a way that makes you stiffen, hyper-aware, but he only taps it, probably remembering that he isn’t supposed to really mess with anything. “Not that hard.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but it could have been one of those with the stick at the top that you, uh… pump up and down.” Wow, you really picked the most suggestive item in the entire room to distract yourself with. Great job with the mental imagery, Jake! Before he can mention anything to that effect, you tunnel on. “Anyway, if you’d given me more than half a second to actually inspect this blasted doodad, it would’ve been pretty friggin easy to piece together how the thing works!”

“Of course, Detective English. Didn’t doubt your skills for a second.” He hasn’t moved his arm, and is in fact almost leaning into you, giving you that same snide grin. “You might be getting _too_ good, actually. Might have to slow your roll, unless you want to surpass Sherlock and leave him with no choice but to hunt you down to reclaim his title. And you _know_ he wouldn’t leave a trace of the murder.”

You push down the urge to shove him. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. I was just _trying_ to express interest in making butter the old-fashioned way! Wasn’t expecting this level of sarcasm in return.”

“Don’t you know by now? You should _always_ expect some amount of sarcasm from me.” He moves away, enough so that you can finally breathe unhampered again. You hadn’t even realized how shallowly you’d been breathing. And for what? Are you so afraid to be near him, touching him, that you can’t even share his airspace? You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he inspects the stovetop, one finger lazily dragging along the gleaming silver handle of the oven beneath. “So are we getting down to business now or do you want to keep wasting time talking about ancient food preparation?”

Well, he’s caught you in the act. This perceptive bastard is going to be the death of you. Time to resort to your favorite deflective strategy, as always. “I mean, I’m _all for_ the latter option. How d’you think this stove worked? Did they use coal, or were gas ranges invented by that time? When did electric-”

“Jake.”

“On second thought, I don’t see any light fixtures in here, so maybe electricity wasn’t widely available at the-”

“ _Jesus_ , Jake, the question was rhetorical.”

It takes everything in you to not snicker. The irritated frown on Dirk’s face tells you he already sees right through this act of yours, but you’re not going to admit defeat just yet, or ever, really. “Oh, was it? Gee willikers, I feel like a right fool now for carrying on as much as I did. Actually thought you were looking to talk about these old appliances more!”

“Right. Well, I wasn’t, so feel free to drop the subject whenever you like.” He pauses long enough to process the sly look on your face before quickly adding, “Wait, no, I changed my mind, because you’re going to take that as an invitation to keep talking about that shit, and I’d just as soon cut off my head than have to listen to another second of introspection on the heating methods of the early nineteenth century.”

You finally allow yourself a smile, and even manage to elbow him without having a crisis. See, Jake? Not everything has to be so dramatic all the time. This is just another dude that you’re palling around with. No need to get flustered over close proximity or small brushes of skin or anything like that. “Alright, I read you loud and clear, Dirk! I’ll stop yanking your chain. Let’s take another trip around the house, shall we?”

“Never thought you’d ask.”

You both go through the house again, deciding which pieces of evidence and history would fit best in which rooms for when you record your video. This time, Dirk gives each room only a cursory glance, before honing in on you as you lay out key bits of information. And you thought you were flustered before. What a fool you were.

When you revisit the attic, you’re met with the same creepy clown doll, and you have to suppress a shudder. “Fiddlesticks, almost forgot this thing was in here. Scared the bejesus out of me the first time we came through! Had to keep myself from letting out a shriek.”

“What, the doll?” Dirk walks over to it, arms crossed, then looks over his shoulder at you with a small smile. Of course, the only windows in the room are behind him, so the backlighting casts most of his face in shadow. As if you didn’t have enough problems interpreting his expressions. “I think it’s pretty cool.”

The fact that you can’t tell whether he’s messing with you or being genuine about this is frankly disturbing. “Cool? How on God’s green Earth could that devilish thing possibly be cool?”

“Do you not like dolls? Or is it the clown aspect that’s got you freaked out?”

“Both! The combination! I- I don’t know!” You cross your arms, attempting to at least seem like you’ve got your wits about you. Can’t have Dirk thinking you’re scared of fabric and stuffing. Even if it’s a _lot_ of fabric and stuffing. With a dead-eyed, complacent smile stitched onto its- _stop_ , you’re only going to wig out more if you keep thinking about it like that. “It might just be this place that’s getting to me. It’s bad enough knowing people were murdered here without having to confront monstrosities such as _that_.”

“Aw, come on, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think? The doll’s harmless, Jake.” Dirk gives the doll a light kick, as if to demonstrate its lifelessness, but you aren’t fooled. “Ain’t even the creepiest one I’ve seen. Get over here, it won’t bite.”

Determined to stand your ground, you shake your head. “And how would you know that, exactly? Just because it hasn’t bitten you yet doesn’t mean it isn’t capable of doing so! It could just be waiting to strike when you have your guard down.”

“Well, I’m kind of an expert on dolls. Used to make puppets in my free time, sold some of the better ones online. If anyone’s able to tell if this one can bite, it’s me. And even if it could, I wouldn’t let it hurt either one of us. My guard is never down, and honestly it’s kind of insulting you would even posit such a theory.”

Your mind gets stuck on the beginning part of his spiel, so much so that you don’t quite listen to the rest of it. Between puppet-making and his comment about sword fighting, you’re starting to wonder what other insane, weird secrets Dirk has yet to reveal about himself. “You _made_ puppets? What kind of- never mind, it doesn’t matter! Whether or not you’re an ‘expert’ on the subject, I’m perfectly happy planting myself a good distance away, where I’m _positive_ it’s safe.”

“You sure you don’t want to get in on this? The construction on this doll’s actually pretty nice. Probably factory-made, but damn if it doesn’t look hand-crafted.” He crouches next to the doll, balancing on the balls of his feet, to take a closer look, or at least pretend to do so for the purposes of whatever joke he thinks he’s making. Unfortunately for him, his position only makes it more obvious how easily the doll dwarfs him, and despite how weirded out you are by the thing you can’t help but chuckle, loud enough to garner Dirk’s attention. He turns to look back at you again. “Something funny?”

“No, of course not!” you exclaim, though you can’t stop the grin spreading on your face. “I mean, I already knew you weren’t exactly gifted in the height department, but you crouching there really put things in perspective, you know?”

“No. I don’t.” He raises an eyebrow, which tells you he knows _exactly_ what you’re talking about, but you suppose he doesn’t want to admit that. “Care to explain?”

You roll your eyes, holding in a snort. He’s so ridiculous sometimes. Fine. He wants you to say it? You’re more than happy to. “Dirk, the clown is taller than you are.”

“Bullshit.” He stands up almost immediately, as if to keep you from making the comparison, but it’s too little, too late. “No way is this thing that tall.”

You take a wary step closer, giving the doll a narrow-eyed, ‘don’t mess with me’ glare to show you mean business. “No offense, bro, but it wouldn’t have to be all that big to surpass you in height.”

“I am a perfectly average height.”

“Five-five is a bit lower than the average, I think.”

“Still doesn’t mean the doll is taller than me. You can’t prove shit.”

“Like hell I can’t!” You manage to creep even closer, stopping about a meter away from Dirk. You won’t risk getting too near the doll and recklessly endangering yourself. “It’d be extremely simple to compare if you just sat down next to the thing.”

Dirk breathes out a light laugh, before squaring his shoulders, planting both hands on his hips, and getting right into your personal space, close enough that your chests nearly brush. The closeness is really a disadvantage for him, since he has to tip his head back slightly to make eye contact, which only makes him appear that much shorter. But you suppose you’re at a bit of a disadvantage as well- the lack of distance between you two has your heart racing unnaturally fast, and it doesn’t help that from this angle you can almost catch the glint of his eyes. If only there were better lighting in this attic, then maybe you could see the color behind those ridiculous shades. Then again, you wouldn’t want him to catch the red on your cheeks, either. “Good luck getting me to do that.”

The urge to step back, to concede, rises in you once more, choking you in its anaconda-like hold, but you beat it down. You’re not going to wilt away from him like some perennial flower, not this time, no matter how strongly your instincts scream at you to hide before he figures you out. You don’t make a move to close the space between you, either, or to force him to sit down. You just smile down at him, as falsely pleasant as can be- a trick you learned from Jane. “Why wouldn’t you want to sit next to it? Unless… you’re afraid that I might be right?”

He fully frowns at that, which is how you know, at least for the time being, that you got him. You’ll chalk that up as a victory. “No, of course not. I ain’t afraid of shit. I’m just trying to avoid getting splinters up the ass from these shitty wood beams.”

“Oh come now, they seem perfectly fine! It’ll only be for a minute, I’m sure your ass will be right as a trivet!” You try not to think about his ass and fail spectacularly. “Go ahead, sit down.”

“Naw, I think I prefer standing, thanks.” He raises an eyebrow, and you find yourself wishing you had the level of control over your expressions that he has. You suspect you’re an open book to him, and everyone else on the planet, ninety percent of the time. “If you really want to see me sitting next to the clown, you’re gonna have to make me.”

Well, he couldn’t give you a clearer invitation than that. Seems there’s no avoiding a physical altercation now. Not that you would want to avoid it, of course. You’re always down for a good, clean scrum whenever you can get one. You hesitate, though, because you definitely don’t want to read it the wrong way. Nor do you want to get too rowdy and accidentally break something in here. “And how exactly do you suggest I do that?”

One long, delicate finger pokes your chest, nearly too light to feel, but it’s enough to break the fragile barrier between you. When he replies, his gaze burns intensely into you, almost more physical than his finger had been. “I suppose the easiest way would be to shove me down.”

You lunge at him, without preamble or warning, but he slides out of the way, leaving nothing but empty space for you to fall into. Thankfully, you’ve been in enough fights to know how to keep your balance, so you manage to catch yourself, planting your feet. You turn to see him behind you, a wisp of a grin playing at the corner of his lips, and he raises his hands, beckoning you with a flick of two fingers.

And just like that, the game is on. You’d been waiting for the opportunity to see if your initial assessment of him as someone who’s experienced with combat was correct, and right off the bat it looks like you were pretty damn accurate. His motions are fluid and lightning-quick, and he manages to dodge most of your moves to grab him while also darting in to land a few light blows that are barely more than taps, just enough to aggravate you. You can tell he’s holding back, which is fine because so are you- the attic of a house-turned-museum is probably not the best place to roughhouse, so you’re both taking extra care to be conscientious of your unconventional fighting arena. The space is tight, especially with the wooden support beams cutting the room in half, and you’re sure neither of you would want to have any sort of impact with the non-padded floor. It’s a good thing that there isn’t really anything super breakable in here, at least not on the side you’re on, or you’d have to watch out for that, too. 

Considering all of that, though, you do have a rather enjoyable fight. You both know what you’re doing, and what he lacks in build he makes up for in his dexterity, leaving the fight evenly matched right up to the end. In all honesty, you think he _lets_ you get the upper hand and push him down, as that was the whole point in initiating the brawl in the first place. You pin his hands down on either side of his body, your legs straddling him, and for once your mind doesn’t scream at you or remind you just how scandalized the position should make you feel. You both stay frozen there for a second, the only sound your labored breathing, the must of the attic swirling with the tang of sweat. And then you sit back, grinning, loosening your hold on his wrists.

“Guess this means I win. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to sit next to the doll now, or are you going to make me drag you over there?”

Dirk raises himself up on his elbows, staring at you coolly, his eyes actually visible for once thanks to his askew shades. You had assumed they were some sort of brown flecked with amber, but seeing them now they’re much more bright than you imagined, almost glowing tangerine in the shaft of sunlight coming from the high quarter-circle windows. It’s enough to make you catch your breath, even if his features look a little foggy- oh, right, you forgot you have glasses, too. You readjust your crooked glasses, which must remind him to do the same, because in a blink his shades are straight, and gone are those flaming orange irises. It’s a wonder both of you managed to keep your eyewear intact, though you suppose that’s another blessing you can chalk up to not giving the fight your all.

After a few seconds of him giving you that unaffected stare- it’s as if he thinks he has all the time in the world- he shrugs. “Fine. Don’t think I need to worry about splinters anymore after practically rolling around in here like a goddamn pig in a sty.”

You frown with concern, giving him a once-over. “You didn’t get any, did you? Splinters, I mean.”

He snorts, lightly shoving at you. “No, English. I’m fine. If anyone here got splinters, it would be the dude trying to pass off five inches of fabric as shorts.” 

“Well, that’s not fair. My fashion choices are my own, and if that means leaving my legs exposed to the elements and whatnot, that’s my business and I’ll deal with it however I want!”

“Did _you_ get splinters, Jake?”

“What? No!”

“See, we’re both fine. Now get off of me, you’re kind of flattening my legs here.”

“Right.” You move to let him up, but pause, giving him a suspecting glare. “You’re going to sit next to the clown, though, right? I need to hear an agreement from you on this one.”

“Yes, Jesus, I already said I would.”

“For at least long enough for me to judge if you’re shorter?”

“ _Yes._ Might be sacrificing my dignity in the process, but fuck it.”

“That’s all I needed to hear!” You scoot back and stand, offering him a hand up, but he just swats it away, scowling, and pushes himself up. Then, with a heavy, resigned air, he turns to face the clown again.

“Let’s just get this fucking over with,” he mutters, before sitting next to the doll, his arms crossed. “You happy now?”

“Extremely.” Now that they’re side-by-side, you creep as close as you dare to make the comparison. Unfortunately, since the clown’s legs are proportionally short compared to its large torso and gargantuan head, you actually have to measure how much further Dirk’s legs jut out versus how high the head towers above him. Which means getting much too close for comfort. You keep expecting the doll to suddenly come to life and take a swipe at you, even though you know it’s not likely. No amount of logic and reasoning can keep your irrational fear at bay, though. Dirk, thankfully, stays relatively still during your careful examination. He must sense how freaked out you still are by the doll.

When you’ve come to a satisfactory conclusion, you straighten up, trying to school your face to resemble Dirk’s emotionless mask. “Well, Dirk, it was a tough call, but I’m afraid I must inform you that my initial assessment was correct. The doll is indeed taller than you.”

Dirk grumbles, getting to his feet again. “Whatever. So some jackass decided to make an unnaturally huge doll. Big deal.”

“It isn’t taller than me, though.”

“Yeah, so what? I know for a fact there are plenty of dolls out there that are. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re just mad because it makes you seem short. Which, you are, but-”

“Can we just get out of this fucking attic already?”

You laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh, so suddenly you want to leave, huh? Had enough of the clown?”

He pivots his shoulder away from you, giving you a grumpy glare. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You know what, the doll doesn’t seem so bad. I think it might be growing on me!”

“Jake, you and I both know that’s a complete load of bullshit.”

“What? Of course not!” You give him your best shit-eating grin. The way you see it, this is just payback for him ribbing you earlier. It’s about time you showed him two can play at that game. “That clown’s like a chum to me. We’ve been through so much together already!”

Dirk sighs, then takes a step toward the door. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re finally warming up to the doll. I’ll take that as my cue to leave. You probably want some alone time with your new _chum_.”

Understandably, you panic, rushing for the exit. “W-wait! I was kidding! Don’t leave me alone in here with that vile thing!”

“That’s what I thought,” he intones, snorting. He then gestures to the open doorway. “After you, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this is a real place. you can tour it at http://www.wolfcounselor.com/panoramas/villisca/slides/virtual_tour.html


	5. Chapter 5

You both make your way back to the kitchen, where your abandoned equipment lays. You’d almost forgotten your whole purpose in being here. “Right. Should we set up? I think we’ve prepared enough for making a video.”

Dirk comes to stand next to you and watches as you pull out your dinky camera and tripod. It’s the best you could do on your budget without hiring a whole recording crew and whatnot. You had a hard enough time finding a partner for your paranormal investigation. You can’t imagine the struggle it would have been to get multiple people on board, never mind supplying them with a salary. “Sure. Not exactly positive I’m going to be all that interesting on-camera, but I’m as ready as I’m ever gonna be.”

“Oh, don’t worry, the audience will love you! You’re pretty friggin hilarious, Dirk. You just gotta be yourself!”

“Well, fuck. We’re screwed.” You laugh at that, though you don’t quite get the joke. You suppose he might not feel comfortable in front of the camera? In any case, you’re about to see.

You’d already decided you wanted to film the video sequentially, telling the story in order, just to keep both of you on the narrative track and make sure you don’t miss anything. This might mean jumping around different rooms in the house a few times, but you’re both strapping young men and a little bit of stair climbing certainly won’t do you in. You tuck your notes under one arm, grab your camera, and head towards the parlor. “Well, come on, then. Thought it might be best to start where the first bodies were discovered.”

Dirk snorts, trailing after you on impossibly light feet. Seriously, how is it that even in this freaky, old house with its noisy floorboards, his footsteps make not a peep? You can only accredit it to witchcraft. “You said that so casually. As if you were suggesting we visit a Taco Bell and not a room where children were brutally murdered.”

“Well, how can you guarantee that children _aren’t_ being brutally murdered at a Taco Bell? Of all the fast food joints I can think of, I feel that would be the likeliest one to harbor mass pedicide!”

“Either that or McDonalds.”

“Fair point!” You pass through the parlor, hang a right, and enter the side bedroom. The west-facing window is covered by a red curtain, and with the dusk light filtering through it, the whole room is cast in a muted vermillion. Fitting, you think, and a bit ominous, the way it reminds you of the bloody atrocities committed here. It’ll make a perfect spot for the beginning of your video. Might even set the mood.

There’s a bit of a problem, though, one that you’re surprised hadn’t occurred to you earlier. Dirk beats you to the punch.

“Kind of a tight fit in here, huh?” Still standing in the doorway, he nudges the laundry hamper off to one side with his foot.

“Yeah, sure is cramped! Then again, I suppose it’s going to be cramped in most of the rooms in this historic house. Don’t have the first clue how we’re supposed to film a video in here!” You peruse your viable seating options. There’s a chair in the corner by the closet, but since there’s only one that’s a no-go. Unless one of you sat on the other’s lap, which… okay, you’ll admit the idea excites you, but it would certainly make for a strange opener to your video. Then there’s a chest at the foot of the bed, which you consider as a possibility for all of three seconds before noticing the raised strips of what you think might be brass, bolted onto the top with raised nails, and realize that probably wouldn’t be very comfortable for your rear end. The only other possibility is the bed, which has dresses and stuff laid out on it. You remember you’re not supposed to sleep in the beds- that’s what the sleeping bags you brought are for- but you don’t remember anything about _sitting_ on them. “D’you think we’d be allowed to perch on the bed, or is that against the rules? I admit I wasn’t paying the closest attention at the time.”

“Wow. Jake English, not listening to the rules? When did you become such a rebel?”

“I-I’m not! There were just so many and I-”

“Relax, dude. Just messing with you. Far as I remember, we can sit on the furniture. Just can’t move anything too much, or sleep in the beds or anything.”

“Right, right. I remembered that part.”

“Sure you did.”

You huff at him, before breezing past where he’s _still_ lounging against the doorframe to begin your setup. You’d thought the tussle from earlier might relieve some of your pent-up awkward tension around him, but if anything you feel more uneasy as the memory of the fight plays in the back of your head. You’ll just distract yourself with the minutiae of mindless tasks, like setting up the tripod… or quickly realizing there’s no room to put the blasted thing where the camera would actually capture both you and Dirk. You guess you’ll just put the camera on the corner of the dresser? Great, that made setup a whole lot quicker. How are you going to distract yourself now?

“Maybe we should get this video business underway?” you ask Dirk, worrying at your lip as you do. You suppose that’ll hold your attention for the time being, though it’ll also mean sitting next to Dirk for a good deal of time. “Might as well get started now.”

Dirk shrugs, finally straightening away from his post by the door. “Sure. Shouldn’t take too long, right? I’m starving.”

You snort. “Yes, I’m rather looking forward to dinner as well. But first, we’ve got some quality gold to produce! And if we’re to do this correctly, it may take longer than you’re hoping for.” You gingerly set yourself down on the edge of the bed, afraid to crumple the dress under your behind, and pat the space next to you. Dirk takes his place with much less care, and you wince for the poor garment he probably just wrinkled.

“Damn. You don’t think we’re capable of hitting it outta the park at the first pitch?”

“Well, I’ve never really done scripted informational videos before! It’ll be a new experience for both of us. Really, this first one is just for us to find a rhythm to slot into, get into the groove of the whole video-making process, figure out what works, what doesn’t, et cetera. Keeping that in mind, this one will probably take a lot longer than any future endeavors we decide to embark on!”

Dirk almost pouts at that. You’d call it adorable if that didn’t drudge up every other blasted thought you were currently trying to shove down. “So what you’re saying is no dinner.”

“What I’m _saying_ is we might have to put dinner off for a good while. But if it really comes down to it, we could always take a break from the recording and grab a bite!”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dirk settles back, propping himself up with his hands behind him and most likely crumpling the dress further. “You gonna start the camera? We’re wasting daylight.”

Right. The strengthening light to the west is more than enough of an indicator of _wasting daylight_. “Yeah, yeah, lemme just organize my notes.” You flip through your notebook, finding your introductory notes, which are, of course, on the first page. Who would’ve thought! Dirk watches with one eyebrow raised as you straighten up the loose pages, his foot tapping lightly against the floor. All of his nervous tics- not that he has many- are expressed in tapping, you’ve noticed. First his fingers, and now his foot. You wonder if there’s some sort of escalation going on, like maybe he’ll start drumming out entire rhythms the longer you know him. That’s a bit of a silly thought, though, so you disregard it almost immediately, even though the mental image of Dirk jamming out on air drums is pretty funny. You realize your paper-shuffling is a manifestation of you stalling for time for no discernible reason, so you stop doing that. “Alright, here they are! I suppose I’ll just reach over and give that record button a good tap now?”

“Uh, yeah. Dunno why you’re dragging this out. Do I need to reiterate that we ain’t got time to lose?”

“Okay, okay! Jeez. Just thought we could be a tad more ceremonious about the whole occasion, you know, do something to christen our budding relationship as-”

“Holy fuck, Jake.” Dirk is back on his feet in a blink, and you have a moment of panic where you think he’s had enough of your shit and is going to walk out, though you’ve nary a clue _why_ you think he’d even consider doing that. Your absurd panicky thoughts are doused when he just reaches for the camera, identifying and pressing the record button, then methodically adjusting the preview screen and tilting the camera to just the right angle before settling back down next to you. “Was that so hard?”

“N-no, I suppose not,” you mutter, somewhat embarrassed by how simple he made it seem. Not that it was difficult to start the camera, you had just been hesitant, for reasons that you don’t even entirely understand.

You’ve started to notice that all of Dirk’s undertakings are done so efficiently. It’s almost intimidating how, when he sets his mind to something, no matter how small, he makes sure it’s finished perfectly and punctually. You guess you couldn’t have picked a better person to do this whole thing with, especially since you differ so vastly from Dirk in perfection and punctuality. Just a glance at your low-effort earlier videos would prove that. Really, just a glance at your life in general. You’ve never bothered to do much of anything without a few flaws, and you rarely care a whit about doing any of those things quickly. When was the last time you actually put effort into doing something? When did you lose that drive?

Hell, maybe you never had that drive. Maybe it was just you, all along, being your far-from-perfect self. Dirk, on the other hand, is probably the closest you’ve seen a person to being “perfect”, whatever that means. It’s almost machine-like how much thoughtful planning goes into everything he does, but you can tell he pours a good deal of care into that, too, enough to set him apart from being stiff or robotic. Though, you can definitely picture him using cost analysis in tricky social situations.

And there you go, spacing out again, but this time with a healthy dose of self-pity. Considering your somewhat pathetic life is only one of your least favorite frequent hobbies. You snatch all those darker thoughts and shove them deep into your mind where they hopefully won’t bother you for a good while. Dirk is staring at you, mostly expectant but also slightly puzzled, which makes you think he might’ve said something that you missed and he’s been waiting for a reply for at least some time. You’re just going to assume it had to do with beginning the video.

“Alright, I’m ready. I’ll just start at the top!” You clear your throat, straightening up, completely prepared to stop stalling and get a move on this whole thing, but then you glance over at Dirk again and you’re accosted by another reason to delay this thing further. “Aren’t you going to take off your shades?”

He coughs, taken aback. It’s not every day you’re able to surprise Dirk Strider. He quickly regains his composure, one of his hands straightening his glasses in what looks like a subconscious move. “Why would I? I’m not asking you to take off your glasses.”

You blink at that. “I mean, I _suppose_ , but that’s because I need these to see!”

“Yeah, so do I, bro. Did you forget about the light sensitivity thing?”

“Oh, yeah. Is it really that bright in here, though?”

His eyebrows raise at that. “Jake. That’s not the point.”

“So you _don’t_ need them right now?”

“Even if I didn’t, which I do, so fuck you for insinuating that, I still wouldn’t take them off. It’s a matter of fucking principle.”

“I just assumed, you know, for the channel, our viewers might have questions about the shades and all, so-”

“Fuck ‘em.” His response is immediate, said without remorse, and now it’s your turn to be taken aback. “What the fuck do I care what they think?”

“B-but they’re our viewers!” you bluster indignantly. “We’re supposed to care!”

“Supposed to. That doesn’t mean either of us actually does.”

“I care!”

“Mhmm.”

You turn to face him fully, arms crossed. “Why do you think I’m doing this series in the first place? The entire purpose of this paranormal content is to cater to what my subscribers asked for.”

“Is it?” Dirk leans forward, a smirk painted faintly on his lips. “I thought we were doing this because it’s what _you_ wanted. So you could prove ghosts exist and everything.”

He’s got you there. You’re starting to figure out that you’re outmatched when it comes to arguing with Dirk. He’s simply too good. “W-well, yeah, that was _part_ of it, I suppose.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His smile is oh-so-smug. You wish you could wipe it off his face. “Whatever, that’s all beside the point. The shades are staying on, and that’s all there is to say on the matter.”

“Fine.” With a touch of haughtiness, you swivel away from him, arms still securely across your chest. “Keep the shades. Doesn’t bother me.” _It does._

“Great. Are you done holding up the video now? You got it outta your system?”

His tone is more than a little sharp, which probably means your obstinance is getting on his nerves. You sigh, dropping your whole self-righteous act. It wasn’t really your style, anyway. “Yes, I’ve exhausted all my dilly-dallying. Let’s do this thing!”

You turn to the camera, putting on a smile, which feels more than a little false as it stretches across your face, but hey, that’s show business! Then you realize you’re about to talk about horrible murders, and maybe a smile isn’t all that appropriate, so you wipe that off, aiming for neutral but probably ending with some awfully awkward half-grimace. The only thing you’re ever successful at faking is cheerfulness, so when it comes to attempting seriousness you always fall a bit short.

Then, with a glance at your notes and partially-formed script, you clear your throat and begin. “Hello, all you curious chaps! For those of you who just now discovered my channel, I’m Jake English, and I’m joined today by a new guest of the show. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“Hey, I’m Dirk Strider,” Dirk adds curtly. Well, you were hoping for something a little friendlier, but that’s fine. He’ll warm up to the camera eventually.

“And he’ll be accompanying me on my investigation into all things of a paranormal persuasion! We begin tonight in the Villisca Ax Murder House, known for being the sight of eight unsolved murders back in 1912. We’ll be delving into the facts behind the case, then looking for evidence of specters of the souls who were lost here more than a hundred years ago, before spending the night and, hopefully, avoiding any encounters with ax-wielding psychopaths!” Your joke is probably in poor taste, but seeing how anyone who might be offended is long dead, you’re sure you’re in the clear there. Mostly, you’re just glad for your ability to compose yourself and not stumble over your words too badly. You turn to Dirk for assurance, knowing he’ll be able to edit out any unnecessary conversation between the two of you later. You’ve seen his editing skills in action, and he’s practically seamless with the whole thing. “D’you think that was good, or should we get multiple takes before moving on?”

“Sounded perfectly fine to me. Why don’t we just continue until you fuck something up too badly?”

“Works dandily for me! I’ll carry on, then. Feel free to interject whenever the spirit moves you, alright?” You hope your encouragement is enough to get him talking along with you. You wouldn’t want viewers put off by a seemingly silent, stoic asshole, not when you know how inaccurate that first impression is. You know Dirk Strider has multitudes to him, and you want him to at least show the parts that you look upon so fondly, because you have no doubt any audience members would see it the same as you. “Any jokes or commentary you might have would be greatly appreciated.”

“I’ll try my best. No promises, though.”

“That’s good enough for me.” You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before turning back to addressing the camera. “Let’s dive in, then!

“On June 9th, 1912, the Moore family, consisting of Josiah, Sarah, and their four children, attended a Sunday evening church service in the town of Villisca, Iowa. They returned home with two guests, friends of their daughter, who had decided to sleep over. The next morning, a concerned neighbor called up Josiah’s brother, Ross Moore, after noticing the lack of activity from the usually rambunctious Moore household. Nothing could prepare Ross for what he would witness when he stepped into the downstairs bedroom.”

Dirk snorts, the sound surprising you out of your story-telling. “Dunno why you’re being so coy about it, dodging the subject like some word ninja. You already mentioned eight murders happened. There’s no need to set up suspense.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to tell a compelling story! I didn’t realize setting the scene was a _crime_. I’ll refrain from weaving a remotely interesting tapestry in the future.”

“Didn’t say I wanted you to stop. Just pointing out that we already know _exactly_ what this unlucky bastard Ross is about to stumble in on.”

“Well, not _exactly_. If you’d let me _get_ to that, that would be very appreciated.”

“Fine, keep going. I’m invested.”

“Great!” You sigh, trying to temper your smile, because at the very least he’s trying to contribute, and that’s all you really asked for. “Ross walked into the very room Dirk and I sit in now to find two lumps under the bedcovers and dark bloodstains on the sheets.”

“What a surprise.”

You elbow Dirk, glaring at him, but deciding to ignore his comment in favor of continuing with your story. “Realizing something was terribly wrong, he immediately rushed out of the house and told the neighbor to contact the police. Later, the bodies in this room would be identified as Lena and Ina Stillinger, the guests who had been invited to stay over by the Moores’ daughter, Katherine, after having participated in a Children’s Day Program at the church along with the Moore children. The two sisters had been planning on having dinner and spending that Sunday evening with their grandmother, but as they decided to go with the Moores instead, they unfortunately never had the chance.”

“Karma, much?”

You slowly turn to Dirk, brow creased. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean, if they got brutally murdered, it serves them right after skipping out on seeing their grandma,” he deadpans. That gets a shocked laugh out of you, which you quickly try to supress, because it shouldn’t be as funny as it is. Then again, maybe it’s okay to throw in a bit of dark humor and deal with the whole murder situation with lightness. “Just imagine how dejected that granny would’ve felt. You said the murders are unsolved, right?”

“… Riiiiight,” you reply slowly, afraid of where he’s going with this.

“Think I just solved it. Had to be the grandma. The motive’s there and everything.”

At this point you’ve burst out laughing, decorum be damned. “That certainly is a compelling theory,” you reply when you’ve regained your composure. “But since it’s not backed by any sort of evidence, we will not be discussing it in our video.”

“Trying to hide the truth, now, English? You sure _you’re_ not in on it, too?”

You scoff, giving him an unamused look. “I’m going to continue dispersing the _actual_ facts of the case now.” He just nods the go-ahead at you, though it’s clear his victorious little grin isn’t disappearing anytime soon. “Anyway. When the city marshal Hank Horton arrived on the scene, he found the bodies of Josiah and Sarah Moore in the upstairs master bedroom, and four more bodies in the adjoining bedroom, those of the Moore children, Katherine, Herman, Boyd, and Paul.” You glance at Dirk again. “Shall we dive into the details of the crime?”

Dirk’s impressibly mobile eyebrow raises once again. “That’s kind of half the reason we’re doing this, so… yeah.”

“Great! Let’s move to the master bedroom, then, where the murders are rumored to have begun.” You stand up, grabbing the camera in one hand. You consider stopping your recording, but decide against it. Might as well film your ascent to the second floor, along with any other traveling you might do in the house. You or Dirk might take the chance to narrate as you walk, or present some commentary, and you’d rather not miss anything that could make for compelling content. “Tally-ho!”

Dirk snorts, following you up. “You did not just say ‘tally-ho’ unironically.”

“I actually did, in fact. Maybe we need to brush up on your observational skills a bit? How do you expect to catch ghosts when you miss things which are so blatantly clear?”

“Fuck off.”

You proceed to the master bedroom, cracking jokes and pointing out the rooms you pass through. You once again settle on the bed as the only viable seating option in the room and continue where you’d left off in the script. The rest of the rooms follow in the same manner, with you and Dirk jumping around as the story of the crime and its investigation dictates, sometimes revisiting rooms once or twice. You do eventually have to reenter the dreaded attic, just to mention that the killer may have entered the house and hid out there while the Moores were at church. You’re almost averse to pointing out the clown, but there’s just no avoiding it, especially not after Dirk goes up to the thing, greeting it with a “How’s it hanging, dawg?” and a fistbump. After that nonsense, you reconvene in the parlor, mostly because that’s the only room with actual furniture meant for parking your derriere upon, to expound on the possible suspects- an Iowa State Senator, a hired serial killer, a traveling preacher, and countless others, none of which, much to Dirk’s dismay, fit the profile of any sort of elderly woman.

“I still don’t think my Grandma Stillinger theory should be discredited,” he remarks near the end, almost pouting as he does so. “I think I’ve established a pretty clear-cut motive for dear sweet granny. Just cause there ain’t a lick of evidence don’t mean shit.”

“Oh, really? So you agree that an absence of proper evidence doesn’t necessarily disprove the validity of a theory?” You actively school your face into not smiling, so as not to tip him off as to your hidden machinations. Unfortunately, Dirk is just far too perceptive for his own good. He tilts his head at you contemplatively, shifting on the uncomfortable leather couch you both mistakenly assumed would be the best to lounge on, and you know he’s got your number.

“If you’re trying to get me to admit that your misfounded belief in ghosts is reasonable, you can drop it. I ain’t that gullible.”

“Fiddlesticks. Really thought I outfoxed you on that one!”

“No one outfoxes Dirk Strider, Jake. It’s just not possible.”

“Poppycock! I refuse to accept that. I _will_ beat you in a game of wits someday.”

He leans closer to you, to the point where his breath tickles your ear. His arm drapes over the back of the couch, and when he speaks, his voice comes out evenly, a veiled challenge thrumming beneath it. “I’d like to see you try.”

A frigid shiver crawls up your spine at that, leaving a tautness in your back. You roll your shoulders and glance away from him, because, really, it’s quite silly of you to let such a harmless comment make your heart freeze, your skin too tight on your body. Hell, he’s not even touching you, but you’re distinctly aware of every discreet gap of space between you, somehow terrified he might close one of those gaps. There’s a heated energy pulsing through that space, suddenly appearing as if from a void, burning against the ice coursing in your veins. You don’t know why you’re so uncomfortable, so _afraid_ , of his touch- you had tussled with him only an hour or so earlier- but you scoot out of his reach anyway, as subtly as possible. “Right. Well, anyways I believe my point still stands. As far as I’m concerned, a lack of compelling evidence just means ghosts can be as real as I friggin’ imagine them to be! Just as your killer granny theory is as real as _you_ believe it, until you find a way to prove or disprove it.”

“Naw, man.” Dirk has settled back into the couch, his arm slipping away from you, giving you loads more space. You’re not sure if he caught your move to get away, but you appreciate the distance either way. You allow the tension to leak out of you. “Here’s the difference: a killer granny, while unconventional, is at least within the realm of possibility. There’s actual precedent for an old lady going on a murder spree. There ain’t _no_ precedent for the existence of ghosts.”

“Darn tootin’ there isn’t! What about the _loads_ of history and spiritual beliefs held in civilizations _centuries_ before us? Surely it can’t all be coincidence that the idea of phantasmal specters crops up in completely isolated groups!”

“About as coincidental as the similarities between those ‘isolated groups’. Which is to say, there’s a logical explanation, one that doesn’t have to do with aliens or ghosts or any other supernatural bullshit. We just haven’t figured out whether it was the Bering Strait or some other method which allowed the transference of culture. The same is true for any similar mythological or religious beliefs.”

You sigh, crossing your arms and shooting him a dismayed look. You wish he would at least humor you and consider that your side of the argument may have some merit to it. He just likes to dismiss everything you say as naive, hopeful belief and misguided logic, but you know you’ve revealed some tidbits of truth that he’s completely disregarding. “Well, don’t you love to suck the fun out of everything! Can’t you just for once entertain the idea that things might not be so simple as science would have you think? Not that I’m against science, I love it as much as the next chap, but it shouldn’t give you the authority to discredit theories just because there’s a lack of evidence and you personally consider them outlandish.”

Dirk shrugs, unaffected by your display of disappointment. “Sorry, dude. Occam’s razor. Until some convincing evidence or argument makes its way to me, I’m inclined to believe in the simplest explanation. Which in this case is that ghosts don’t exist.”

“Oh, like your murderous granny is a simple explanation? You calling on Occam’s dadblasted razor is as highly hypocritical as it is chock-full of bullshit!”

“You don’t think the granny being a suspect is simple? It’s about as self-explanatory as the state senator being a suspect. There ain’t jack shit in the way of evidence for him. All that makes him seem guilty is his possible motive, which I’ll remind you that Granny has just as much motive, if not more.”

“Right. Because _obviously_ the poor woman would be compelled to kill her grandchildren just because they wanted to sleep over at a friend’s house. Makes _loads_ more sense than Frank Jones being pissed that Mr. Moore started his own company and took a partnership with the John Deere franchise with him.”

“The lady could’ve been fucked in the head, especially given how bad mental healthcare was back then. You never really know, dude. That’s all I’m saying.”

“And _you_ never really know if ghosts are real!” you shout, your volume getting the better of you. You take a deep breath to compose yourself before turning back to the camera and realizing that the small outburst, as well as the entire conversation preceding it, had all been documented. You should probably wrap this section of the video up before you spend the next half-hour arguing about this inane garbage, and maybe consider cutting that whole tirade out of the finished product while you’re at it. You begin directly addressing the lens once more. “No matter! We’ve gotten quite off topic. To recap, we’ve laid out all the suspects, if you disregard Dirk’s absurd addition.” Dirk’s jaw hinges open as he prepares to protest, but one withering warning glance from you and he promptly snaps his mouth back shut. “Next, we’ll be diving into the more paranormal side of things, conducting a few experiments, and possibly communing with phantoms!”

You reach over and shut the camera off, fussing with the contraption for longer than necessary if only to give you a moment to gather your thoughts unmonitored by Dirk. Then you turn back around to him, a smile slapped back onto your face. If he thinks you weird for acting cheery so soon after your little aggravated blow-up, well, at least he won’t think you’re pissed at him or anything. “Would you like to grab some food now, before we attempt our first ghostly investigation?”

Dirk looks almost as though you’ve given him whiplash with your sudden shift in subjects. He straightens slightly in his seat- which, really, you don’t know _why_ he’s continuing to sit on that unnaturally stiff couch- and taps idly at his thigh. “Sure. Already told you I’m famished. Could go for a burger. Or really anything they might have in this backwoods town. Not sure how many options we have here, but I’m down for whatever.”

“Capital! We just need to lock up the ol’ place while we’re gone!”

“Right.” Dirk practically jumps to his feet, apparently eager to get some grub. You are too, of course, though really your more pressing matter is getting out of this house. When you’d begun rolling the camera, you’d found it rather easy to fall into acting the professional and laying out the facts, and you could ignore any anxiety the house caused simply by focusing on the details and viewing everything objectively. Now, though, with your mind free to wander, you’re jonesing to get out for a bit, before you start feeling spooked by this place once more.

“Let’s get a move on, then!” you reply, quickly grabbing your bag and stuffing your camera and tripod in there before making a beeline for the front door. You’re fine leaving the sleeping bags in here, as you doubt they’re in much danger of being stolen, but you would have to be daft to risk your dear, dependable, _expensive_ camcorder being plundered by some no-good thieves.

You and Dirk leave the house, making certain to lock the door behind you, before piling into your dinky car; you could afford better, you suppose, but you don’t particularly use the damn thing all that often, and as far as it works you don’t really see a need to replace it. It only takes a few Google searches and an argument, but you finally decide on a restaurant, a cozy little place named TJ’s Cafe. With a destination in mind, you’re off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little valentines day update for yall! i wasnt even going to write this scene at first and then Ideas happened so. here you go.

“What’re you thinking about getting?”

You and Dirk are sitting opposite each other in a booth against one wall of TJ’s Cafe. The place is shaped unconventionally- while barely wider than a midsize sedan from bumper to bumper, it stretches back on its little strip of nondescript road longer than the average school bus. You don’t know why all your size comparisons are car-related, but you suppose they’re as reliable a unit of measurement as any other.

The ceiling is patterned like a checkerboard, which makes you a little dizzy to stare up at, and the problem is only exacerbated by the fact that, for some consarned reason, each booth has a mirror mounted on the wall next to it, giving the narrow room the illusion of being wider. To your left is a mostly-deserted bar- in fact, there aren’t very many patrons to speak of in general, though you guess that can be attributed to the fact that you’re in a barely-on-the-map town in Iowa with a population of only a little over a thousand. Not to mention that it’s nearly 7 P.M. and the cafe you’ve chosen closes in an hour.

Dirk peers at you over his menu, waiting for an answer to his question. His bleached-blonde hair shines nearly bone white in the harsh glow of the hanging light above you, and every time he moves, the glint off his shades is enough to almost blind a person. You’d both gotten a couple of odd stares as you’d entered the establishment, a few mutters of “tourists” drifting from the other restaurant-goers, but otherwise your reception had been polite enough. You can hazard that most of the stares were on account of Dirk’s eyewear, or possibly your shorts, which, back in high school, would have just barely violated dress code. Or maybe it’s just that they’re not used to many strangers, outside of ones visiting for the Murder House experience.

You realize you still haven’t replied to Dirk. You shake off your reverie and glance down at the menu you haven’t even had a chance to read, picking the first thing you see. “Oh, I was looking at the, um, swiss mushroom burger? That sounds dandy.”

Dirk raises an eyebrow at you. “You sound unsure of that choice. Stuck between two options?”

You decide, hell, you’ll go with his assumption, because you’re not too sure you even like mushrooms in the first place, and really what the hell were you thinking just reading that off? “Oh, yeah, I was torn because, while a swiss mushroom burger sounds absolutely scrumptious, I’m not sure if I’m really harboring the proper hankering for a _burger_ , you know? What with all the scampering around we’ve been doing in that accursed house, I think I’d rather go for something that won’t upset my stomach. Maybe one of their sandwiches, or…” You turn the menu over, and of course there are a shit ton more options. “… a salad? I don’t know how filling a bowl of the green stuff would be, though.”

“Then go for a sandwich. I’d suggest the chicken or fish one, if you’re afraid of your stomach rebelling.”

Crinkling your nose at his latter suggestion, you snort. “Chicken it is, then. I wouldn’t hazard a pass at any seafood here, no offense to this lovely restaurant, of course.” You glance around the place surreptitiously, but no one seems to have overheard you- or if they have, they don’t particularly care to jump to the honor of an unknown cafe in an unknown town. Most of the ones who had seemed interested when you first walked in now look downright apathetic, not bothering to pay you any more mind.

“Why not? Fish is probably my favorite of the proteins. I was looking at that deep-fried catfish, myself.”

“Dirk. Need I remind you we’re in Iowa?”

He tilts his head ever so slightly to the left. “And?”

“And that _means_ we’re in the midwest. Which, last time I checked, was nearly smack-dab in the center of the dang country.”

“Okay? I don’t see what your point is.”

“My _point_ is where do you think that fish you’re contemplating ordering is coming from?”

“Uh… catfish come from rivers, right? Either that or the coasts. Pretty sure that’s their main habitat, at least.”

You sigh, cradling your head in one hand. How is he not getting this? You thought he was quick. Maybe he just doesn't travel as much as you, and hasn't had the awful experiences with seafood that you've had while on the road. “And how far do you think we are from any rivers or coasts that might contain catfish, Dirk?”

“Well, I know the Mississippi is on the eastern border of Iowa, but that’s kind of far from here, and I don’t know if catfish swim this far upstream. I don’t see what this has to do with me wanting to enjoy one of the raddest dishes money can buy.”

“I’m just trying to point out that _maybe_ it’d be worthwhile to question the possible freshness, or lack thereof, of any fish you might order here! After all, you have no way of knowing how far it may have traveled when we’re this far from any viable coasts, or if it was properly refrigerated and packaged. You wouldn’t want to be afflicted by any sort of food poisoning, would you?”

He snorts at you, dropping his menu on the table. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned for my health and all, but I really don’t see how ordering catfish is different from any other meat. Or, for that matter, any ingredient in general. No one wonders where the nearest poultry farm is when they order their fuckin’ chicken, and there ain’t no way it’s ever crossed a person’s mind where their asparagus is coming from.” You put your finger up, ready to chime in, but he barrels ahead, because apparently _this_ is the topic he decides to get argumentative over. Of course. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter, because unless you’re going out to a local food market or farming the ingredients your goddamn self, that shit’s gotta travel to get to the restaurant, or the supermarket, or wherever the fuck else it’s going. And I’m going to hazard a guess and say they know how to properly freeze and transport that shit so it doesn’t get bad before it gets to its destination. So, yeah, sorry if it chafes against your snobby food sensibilities, but I’ve had fish at much more questionable places. I’ve even had a goddamn Filet-O-Fish or two, and you know what? They’re actually pretty decent.”

By the end of his ridiculous food rant, a waitress has arrived, and is watching Dirk with bewilderment, along with half the restaurant- which, again, isn’t many people. You yourself are having trouble not sinking to the dark, carpeted floor from the embarrassed shock you’re suffering thanks to the man you’re unfortunately sharing a table with. Dirk, apparently unfazed by the attention, turns to the waitress with a flat look, clearly too impatient to exchange the usual pleasantries. “I’ll have an orange soda and the deep-fried catfish. Jake, you figured out what you want yet, or do you need a few minutes?”

Now at least you’re not the only one who’s staring open-mouthed at Dirk. Props to your waitress though, because she manages to stop gaping like a fish- bad idiom, never use that one again- at the guy who just commandeered her job for a few seconds and jot down his order before turning to you. You desperately flounder- fuck, you’re not even _trying_ to use fish terms- for words, still flustered by Dirk taking total control over the conversation. “Uh, no, I think I’ve figured it out.” You haven’t, but you’d rather minimize the number of interactions you have with this waitress. That way you hopefully won’t have to suffer too much more public embarrassment. “I’ll have a, um, water and… the grilled chicken sandwich, please!”

She nods, giving you a look of understanding, along with what you think might be a touch of comradery. That’s one thing you have over Dirk, you suppose. You and the waitress can bond over your shared puzzlement and mild frustration with him, and thus, by gaining the trust of an employee, you will have gained the upper hand in the interaction. You allow yourself to believe that for all of two seconds, until the waitress clears her throat and asks, “And will you two be paying separately?”

You say, “Yes,” right as Dirk says, “No,” which causes the waitress to glance between the two of you confusedly. Dirk shoots you a look and repeats, much more emphatically. “No, I’ve got it.”

You immediately begin to object, but Dirk raises his hand, his jaw tense. “C’mon, bro, it’s fine. You paid for the camera equipment and ghost-hunting shit and all that.” Well, if the entire restaurant and its patrons didn’t already think you two to be a couple of top-rate whackos, they certainly do now. “I can cover a few meals. Think of it as collateral.”

You want to argue, but the waitress is shifting from foot to foot, seeming more awkward and uncomfortable by the second, and you’d hate to keep her there to wait for what would surely be a lengthy back-and-forth between you and Dirk, as you’re both uselessly stubborn in the stupidest of situations. “Fine. We’ll be on one check.”

“Alright, that’s no problem. Lemme fetch you those drinks.” She scuttles off rather quickly, which you can’t blame her for. If you hadn’t known Dirk, and had been an outside observer witnessing his strange Striderian behaviors, you wouldn’t have put it past you to turn tail and run at the soonest opportunity. Unfortunately for your flighty ass, he’s your friend now, which means you have to keep your buttocks firmly planted in this chair and somehow make it through having dinner with this disastrous man.

“So…” Dirk starts, because for some mind-boggling reason he doesn’t think he’s done enough psychic damage to you yet. “Villisca seems nice.”

You have to keep yourself from huffing derisively at his subject change. “Nice is certainly a word for it. It’s pleasantly _quiet_ , for one.” You meant that to be a bit of a barb, but Dirk doesn’t react to it, so you just sigh and continue. “Awfully small, though, and about as unique as every other nearly-empty town scattered across this grand failure of a country! I highly doubt anything of note ever happens here, and I’d probably get bored rather quickly if my stay lasted longer than the two days we allotted for this uneventful place.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t call it uneventful. I bet there were plenty of people thinking the exact same thing in 1912. Just goes to show you never know when and where someone might decide to commit a mass murder worthy of the annals of history.”

You hold in a snicker at that. “Don’t you think that’s a bit insensitive?”

Dirk folds his arms over the table, leaning towards you, his menu long discarded. “To who? The family that died over a century ago?”

“Well _maybe_ some of the townspeople have a certain connection to the goings-on way back when? There could be family members still living, maybe even in this very establishment!”

“I highly doubt that. But even if there are a few Moores kicking around this crapshoot of a town, I don’t think they would give a shit about us desecrating the name of their long-dead ancient relatives.”

“They aren’t all that ancient, Dirk! Those little kids would still…” You were about to say that the Moores’ children could have lived up to now, but after some quick math you realize you’ll have to revise your statement. “… have grown up, had they not been viciously murdered all those rotations of the ol’ Earth ago, and they could have had whippersnappers of their own who most definitely would have survived to our time! I’m sure someone out there must give a damn about all those unborn generations of their family.”

“Eh. I don’t like to deal in hypotheticals. The past already fucking happened, and there ain’t no changing it, so I don’t see the point in pondering the eventual fates of a bunch of children that were murdered over a hundred years ago.”

You roll your eyes at that, huffing in annoyance. Why’s he got to be such a burr in your side at all hours? “Oh come now, not being able to wrangle with a hypothetical or two makes this whole blasted thought experiment practically nugatory!”

“Exactly my point. There ain’t a damn lick of sense in wondering about ‘could-haves’ or ‘would-bes’. Fact of the matter is, those kids are dead and fucking gone, and no surviving member of the family is gonna give a single shitting fuck if I state that for the record.”

“Whatever, Dirk.” You wave a dismissive hand at him, sighing deeply. “If this subject doesn’t hold much appeal to your strictly fact-concerned sensibilities, then perhaps we should change it to one that doesn’t ‘deal in hypotheticals’, as you put it?”

Dirk chuckles. “I’m honestly fine with discussing pretty much anything, Jake, but don’t expect me to be very cooperative as a conversational partner, because I almost never am.”

“Oh, trust me, I already figured out _that_ little nugget of information a long time ago. Practically one of the first things I dug up out of the Dirk Strider Characteristics mineshaft! You have that particular uncooperative ore in abundance, my friend!”

One eyebrow carefully raises, and his fingers start tapping against the menu, clattering the cheap laminated paper against the table. “Okay, that dig is fair. I’m a fucking menace when it comes to conversating. Can you really blame me if I’m inclined to instantly shut down every objectively wrong opinion I hear spouted off?”

“‘Objectively wrong opinion’? That’s one heckuva misguided statement you just threw out at me! Opinions, as far as I know, are subjective, so they can’t _be_ objectively wrong.”

“Not when it comes to me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means you shouldn’t test me, English, because you of all people know how easily I can argue any incorrect position you might hold into the dirt.”

“Wh- I-” you sputter, indignant. “I’m perfectly capable of beating you in an argument, intellectual or otherwise! Haven’t I won an argument against you at least once?”

Dirk shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but his smirk betrays him. “Can’t recall anything of the sort, so it couldn’t have possibly happened.”

“No, no, I’m almost _positive_ I’ve had you dead to rights on at least one occasion! I can’t place a specific time I won in a word squabble with you, but it _must’ve_ happened!”

“Sure, Jake. Whatever you want to believe.”

“I think you even _conceded_ to me at one point!!”

“Again, I don’t exactly remember that, so I couldn’t say for sure that-”

You kick him beneath the table, which actually catches him by surprise, if his miniscule flinch is anything to go by. “You are abso-diddle-lutely the most impossible honcho I’ve ever had the displeasure of interacting with, Dirk Strider!”

He quickly recovers from any shock you may have caused him, giving you a slick grin as his foot purposefully bumps your offending leg. “Oh, have I caused you some consternation?” he asks, his Texan drawl hitched up only slightly, so as not to sacrifice his usual disinterested tone. What a poser. “Mighty sorry about that, son. I’ll see what I can do to rectify this here situation.”

“Oh, please, as if you give a damn. Don’t pretend like you’re anything but pleased as _pudding_ whenever you have the chance to nab my goat!”

“Well, hold on, I _do_ give a damn,” he shoots back quickly, the accent immediately absent. If you didn’t know him to be a bullshitter who delights in yanking your chain almost constantly, you might even say you catch a hint of sincerity in his words. “Sure, it’s pretty entertaining to aggravate you when it’s for shits and giggles, but I wouldn’t want to cause you any actual distress, Jake.”

You watch him in contemplation, looking for any sign of pretended concern, silently questioning just how much he means what he’s saying. He sounds, for once, like he actually, truly believes what he’s saying, and looks about as earnest as you’ve ever seen him- which isn’t saying much- but you have a hard enough time sussing out what is and isn’t a genuine statement from this irony-draped man. Maybe if you could actually get a gander at his eyes for once, you might be able to better ascertain the intent of his words, but he’s ever-so-adamant about hiding those peepers, so you can’t get much of a read on him. Either way, you’re _pretty_ sure he’s not being facetious, just this once. “Okay… I may regret this later, given my penchant for naively putting trust in places it doesn’t always belong, but I’m deciding to trust you, Dirk, at least in this matter, because that is what true friends do! They believe the things that their friends tell them, even if those same friends are prone to lathering layers of insincerity over every one of their comments.”

The way his nose crinkles is sort of cute, even if he’s expressing distaste in how artfully you delivered that line. “I’m going to pretend that your commitment to trusting me wasn’t sandwiched between disses of me and my rad speaking style, and just say I appreciate it.”

Your waitress- you feel bad for never figuring out her name, until you glance at her nametag and see ‘Miranda’ embossed in bold capitals- chooses to appear then, bearing two drinks, and shoots you both a wary smile before placing them in front of you and absconding once more. Dirk takes a sip of his orange soda with a fleeting, satisfied smile, which makes you wonder just how much he likes the stuff. You think you’ve made him smile like that maybe three times total the entire time you’ve known him, and each of those took an uphill struggle to elicit with your lackluster jokes and general rigmarole. “Hold on, I never said I was _committed_ to trusting you! I'm only trusting that you mean what you say about not wanting to agonize me when you’re just trying to rile up my feathers.”

“Well, then that changes things. If you didn’t actually mean to profess your complete trust in me, I’m afraid I can no longer ignore you insulting my good name. In fact, I’m not sure if this whole ghost-hunting arrangement is going to work out much longer.” For about two seconds, you’re concerned he’s still being sincere, until his mouth curls into a sly grin and you’re reminded that you’re dealing with the least sincere man alive.

“Right, because I’m sure you’re feeling absolutely _decimated_ by that hard-hitting one-two punch at your mannerisms. I really bungled this into a hostile working envi- aaAH!” You let out a disgruntled yelp as his foot, which you hadn’t noticed as it idly hooked its way behind your calf, pulls at you hard enough to jerk you half an inch forward in your seat. Thankfully, you have enough sense to put the kibosh on your outburst before you attract any additional attention, though the people closest to you definitely give you confused glances. You turn a vitriol-fueled glare in Dirk’s direction, aiming another kick at his shins, but of course he still has the audacity to look smug. “I must say, Dirk, you’re really giving my poor brain quite the runaround! First you claim to not want to distress me, and then you go and nearly yank me off my seat! I am having quite a hard time discerning your true intentions towards me, what with all this contrary behavior.”

“Ain’t it obvious? I want nothing less than for you to fall deeply in love with me.”

You let out a startled, choking sound, then try hiding it behind a cough, though you’re sure your efforts are unsuccessful in how painfully obvious they are. He’s teasing you, of this you’re almost completely certain, even though his delivery was deadpan and his lips didn’t so much as twitch upwards. Was it so noticeable that your thoughts on him were increasingly leaning towards the enamored? Unless he was just extremely lucky at aiming barbs with such precision. “W-well,” you stammer, trying to find some way to dismiss his comment, “I have to say your tactics are more than a smidgen below par! Maybe you think playing the age-old game of hard-to-get is a worthwhile strategy, but I can’t say I enjoy being tossed around like a pigskin on a gridiron!”

Dirk nods, barely perceptible, and takes another sip of his soda, the picture of composure. You have half a mind to strangle him. “My bad. Didn’t realize my attempts to obfuscate my feelings were bothering you so much.”

“Really? You don’t see how making it frigging impossible to read what’s going on in that overinflated dome of yours might be the teensiest bit frustrating?”

“I mean, yeah, if you’re the kind of nosy-ass, invasive person who thinks they’re entitled to know what others think about them.” You blanch at that, ready to jump in and defend yourself, because it’s not at all a valid assessment of you. You rarely find yourself wondering about others’ thoughts on you, at least, not for a vast majority of the people you meet. Because usually, after a few interactions, it becomes pretty obvious that they expect, or even _desire_ , something from you, and it’s almost always the exact same thing, that which you’ve learned to loathe giving- your body. Though you suppose, with how vapidly you present yourself, you’re the only one to blame if people get the impression you have nothing else to give. Really, it’s no wonder you have trouble making new friends, when you’re so averse to forming deep connections in the first place.

But something’s… _different_ with Dirk. He’s so careful about what he shows you, so particular with every word, every movement. You would almost think there’s nothing he wants from you, given his act of appearing aloof and almost disinterested towards you, except you’re just sharp enough to realize it’s an act in the first place. It’s something in his cautious demeanor, the way he seems to have mapped out his every move before taking the first step, that has you believing there’s a goal he’s working towards, one that you’re unwittingly playing a part in. You haven’t the slightest clue what that goal could be, but you’re pretty certain that, whatever he wants from you, it’s not that physical pliancy which is practically demanded from you by everyone else. Or, hell, for all you know that could be a _part_ of his plans- his comment about wanting you to fall in love with him may not have just been in jest- but it’s definitely not his primary motivation. Though it’s difficult to say anything definitively when you’re dealing with Dirk Strider and his ever-elusive desires.

Needless to say, you’re struggling more than usual to keep yourself under lock and key around him, to the point where you’re beginning to contemplate the benefit of dropping the facade altogether.

You realize Dirk is still talking, unaware of the substantial introspection that flashed through your brain in that half-second of silence. “Did it ever occur to you that some people don’t want you prying into their thoughts? That, just maybe, any obfuscation on my part was intended as defense against intruders?”

“Yes, of course,” you start, carefully, because something about what you said seems to have inflamed him just the slightest. Not that it’s easy to tell on Dirk, but you’re keyed in enough to notice his nostrils flaring slightly and his fingers tapping a quicker staccato. “And you’re more than obligated to that! If you received the impression that I think myself entitled to the inner machinations of my comrades, well, you can go right on ahead and dump that faulty impression right in the nearest wastebasket, because I know better than to infringe on the privacy of another’s mind! I just happen to be a wee bit curious as to the general opinion my peers hold of me, and that’s got nothing to do with any sort of malicious mind-reading. You can’t say you aren’t a _little_ interested to know how people view you.”

His answer comes without hesitation. “No. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me. I thought I made that pretty clear when you were concerned what our viewers would say about my shades. Their opinions don’t really matter or hold any bearing to me and my life, and I ain’t gonna change anything about myself just 'cause some douche out there has an issue with me.”

“Well, okay, I feel that way about _strangers_ , but that wasn’t really what I meant by ‘peers’. I was referring more to actual, real life chums and comrades; you know, the kind of people you _interact_ with and possibly even consider to be _friends_? Surely you must at least give a monkey’s about the opinions of your closest compadres!”

“Yeah, no. The same shit applies. If they don’t like me, that’s their problem. In fucking fact, if that’s how they feel about me, why are they hanging around me in the first place? Do they get some sick, masochistic pleasure out of chilling with a guy they hate? Not that I’m kink-shaming or anything, I’m totally fine if someone’s into that, but could they maybe _not_ get their rocks off on me without my consent? That shit’s important.”

How he keeps a straight face when he says stuff like that, you haven’t a clue. You just barely manage to keep from cracking, taking a slow sip of your water before replying, because you’re actually trying to keep this conversation from going too far off the rails, despite Dirk’s best efforts to steer it straight into the nearest ditch. “Goodness gravy, Dirk. I suppose that answers my question. I must say, you have a rather unique outlook on the whole situation! Most people are rather bothered by not knowing how others view them.”

“Crazy you say that, because last time I checked, I wasn’t ‘most people’.”

You can’t help but snicker at that. “Oh, no, most certainly not. You’re about the most unconventional bugger I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” At his raised eyebrow, you realize that he might be the tiniest bit insulted, so you quickly backpedal. “Not that unconventional is bad! I just mean that you keep things interesting!”

“Interesting, huh?” His voice has gone icy, chilling you to the bone. You should probably put more effort into not stepping on his nerves so often. Then again- and this really doesn’t bear repeating- it’s hard as the blazes to tell when he’s actually offended by you.

“You just keep me on my toes, is all! It’s always a guessing game what you might think or say or do next, and I think it’s only fair to point out it gets rather exhausting after a while.”

Dirk considers this for all of two seconds before his lips flick upwards- the only sign that he’s not actually offended and was, once again, just fucking with you. You would breathe out a sigh of relief if it didn’t mean admitting you were stupidly worried in the first place, or if you weren’t constantly aggravated by this especially prickly thorn in your side. “Didn’t realize you had trouble keeping up. I’ll make sure not to _exhaust_ you too much in the future.”

You blink at the growing smirk on his lips, taking far too long to process what exactly he’s getting at with his comment. When it finally makes it through your thick-skulled head, your cheeks burn, your words stuttering as you look in vain for a way to hide your embarrassment. “I- Dirk- _what?_ That’s not what I meant at all and you know it!”

“What? Can’t a guy have a little fun and twist his bro’s words into innuendos?”

“ _No!_ That is exactly the kind of hogwash I’ve had quite enough of from you.” You groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Would it kill you to not lace every sentence with misdirecting claptrap and instead maybe be, I don’t know, _straightforward_ for once in your life?”

“Actually, yeah, I think it would kill me.” You groan at that, because, really, you should have seen it coming. Even if it’s a ridiculous response to expect from anyone else. “Thanks for expressing concern for my fragile mortality, dude, it means a lot.”

“No problem, _chap_ ,” you grind out, glaring at him. He just stares back coolly, which only makes you more frustrated, so you turn towards the wall and are met with your own reflection. Right- you’d almost forgotten the mirror next to you. You study yourself intensely for a few moments, if only to avoid meeting Dirk’s shielded gaze, and realize just how much of a hypocrite you sound like. In all honesty, you employ misdirection just as much as him, though your brand comes with much more of a performer’s flair. You suppose the real reason you’re irritated is that Dirk is so capable at finding chinks in your armor when all your attempts to do the same to him fall so upsettingly flat. It’s become so much more difficult for you to hide, and not just because of the size disparity.

You look back at Dirk, a mask within a mask, and allow yourself to think for a second that you’re still staring at a mirror. A warped one, sure, like the funhouse ones that circuses frequently stock, but even then you can still recognize your own reflection when you see it.

And then you dismiss that particular stream of consciousness as just another flight of fancy, because, really, of all the ridiculous notions that have ever popped in your head, that one takes the cake. You open your mouth, your brain churning to find some sort of witty retort to add, but due to your completely bonkers thought processes, you can’t remember what the last thing he said was. Thankfully, the waitress comes just in time to save you from what was sure to be a disaster of epic proportions. You flash her a doubly grateful look as she sets your sandwich down in front of you, and Dirk even displays another one of those small smiles at the sight of his catfish. You guess it’s true what they say about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach, though you didn’t expect that to be the case for Dirk. Just more information on this enigma of a man that you’ll be storing for later use.

“Anything else you two need?” Miranda asks, even as she steps back from the table. “Refills? Dessert?”

“I think we’re good, thanks,” Dirk answers, and she nods, somewhat relieved, before scurrying off to the only other occupied table. Your slight disappointment must show, because Dirk points his fork at you, a piece of catfish already speared on the end and wavering in your face accusingly. “What’re you pouting for?”

“Pouting? I’m not-” You realize that, okay, you were frowning just a little bit, and attempt to straighten out your mouth. “Okay, _maybe_ the sound of dessert was a little appealing to me.”

Dirk chuckles at that, before popping the fork in his mouth and talking around it, which makes you roll your eyes. Of _course_ this man has no table manners. Figures. “If you want, we could call the waitress back here and order you something sweet. I wouldn’t advise it, though.”

“And why is that?” You pick up one half of your sandwich and bite into it, taking care _not_ to talk with your mouth full, because while your grandma may have provided you with a bit of a wild upbringing, she at least taught you basic frigging etiquette.

“Because we still have the rest of the video to film, and I don’t think you want to stay up till the ass-crack of dawn tryna get this done.”

“Please, Dirk. I don’t think ordering a pie or any other sugary confection will take that much more time! At least not any longer than we were already planning to spend in this here establishment.”

“Never know, bro. Could have some sort of pie-related catastrophe transpire.”

“‘Pie-related catastrophe,’ eh? And, pray tell, what exactly would that entail?”

“A pie to the face, dude. Obviously. Either that or somehow having the entire thing end up in your lap.”

You throw up your unoccupied hand in exasperation. “Right, because that’s an incredibly plausible scenario you just cooked up there!”

“Dunno if you noticed, Jake, but you’re kind of accident-prone. Wouldn’t put it past you to accomplish the implausible.” You would object to that, but it’s a pretty accurate assessment of you, so you just grumble. “And if that doesn’t convince you, need I remind you who’s covering the check? That pie would cost me another, uh…” He glances at the menu, brow furrowed. “Three dollars? Four if you want it à la mode.”

So he thinks he can guilt-trip you, huh? You put down your sandwich just so you can cross your arms. “Is that supposed to guilt me into not ordering pie? If the price is what’s causing you so much trouble, I’m more than happy to cover it.”

His mouth tightens around the corners, and you think for a second that you’ve got him beat, until he crosses his arms right back at you. Leave it to Dirk Strider to always be one step ahead of you. “You already agreed to let me pay, and if I recall correctly, you never go back on your promises. Besides, I’m more than capable of affording a goddamn four dollar pie. Go ahead and order it if you really want it, it’s no skin off my back.”

You sigh, hedging your bets. You could keep pushing back, insist on receiving this stupid dessert that you barely even wanted in the first place, but you just don’t see the point in doing so. “No, it’s quite alright. I can go without pie for now. As always, you’re right, we _should_ try to head back to the house sooner.” You’ll back down, just this once… who are you kidding, when have you ever _not_ had to back down in an argument with Dirk? Whatever. You’re just glad you’ve seemingly sidestepped the more serious topic you’d been discussing with him before. Maybe it’s just another evasive tactic, from both of you, to pretend like any talk about misdirection didn’t happen, but you’re more than happy to let that particular topic slip through your fingers.

“That’s what I thought. Also, in case you were still under the impression that my catfish would be shitty, let me assure you it is actually fucking delicious, so fuck you for insinuating otherwise.” You laugh, shaking your head, and just like that you’re out of the woods, conversation-wise.

You finish the rest of your dinner, accompanied by harmlessly friendly banter, and let Dirk pay the check, though you definitely fume as he does so. The staff looks relieved as you make your way to the door, especially since it’s only ten minutes before closing and they’re probably itching to leave early- and you certainly can’t blame them for that.

The sky is much darker now than when you had entered the restaurant an hour ago; with the sun long past set and the moon barely more than a sliver hung crookedly amidst heavy clouds, it feels more like midnight than eight o’clock. You and Dirk hop back into your car, making the short return trip to the house in comfortable silence.

But as you slow to a stop in front of your destination, you stare up at the empty windows and shadowed porch, and apprehension slithers its way, slimy and thick, into your stomach. This was the part you were most dreading when it came to paranormal investigation- conducting the actual investigation, holing up in a haunted house and hunting the horrors within… or hoping they don’t hunt you first.

Like it or not, you’re about to confront some ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST fucking realized now that adobe is kaput that virtual tour website for the ax murder house aint gonna work anymore :( can i get an F in the chat  
> i found some panoramas of the rooms but the experience just aint the same. tragic
> 
> the update plan for now is to put up a chapter a month (slow, i know, bear with me) so ig itll be on the 14th every time!

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @lucidlyLucid for fic updates!


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